The Healing of Harms
by Frog-Lizard
Summary: Lizard: "The future belongs to those who give the next generation reason for hope." What if the Autobots didn't take the Decepticon threat seriously from the beginning? And what if they got a chance to see the results? G1, slightly AU.
1. Prologue

_Lizard: Okay, I know Vulnerablity isn't done, but I couldn't help myself! This is the story from my poll, and I am crazy excited for it ever since I started writing! This first chapter is sort of a prologue, but whatever._

_Please keep in mind, some of the characters may seem a little OOC, but this takes place very early on in the war. Like, before it was even a war. So I think a lot of their little personality quirks and such came from being at war so long, meaning they might not have those, at least not to the same extent. There _will_be OCs in this, because that's the only way it will work. Sorry if some people don't like that._

_In addition, this is kind of AU, because I'm no expert on G1 verse so I took some creative liberties._

_...please don't hurt me?_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Just any OCs mentioned._

* * *

_"The future belongs to those who give the next generation reason for hope."_

_-Pierre Teilhard de Chardin_

Sometimes, it's hard to see the big picture. You think you have it figured out, everything makes sense, then you catch a glimpse of something else, something new, and your whole perspective has to change, to compensate. Then you get comfortable with this new view, and it just happens all over again. It's why we underestimate, over-exaggerate, or completely ignore what's going on. We simply can't see. But then, every once in a great while, we don't just get a glimpse of a small section, we aren't confined to our narrow minded views.

No.

Every once in a great while, we see it all.

And it terrifies us.

_............._

Prowl stared tensely over the barren landscape before him. Supposedly it had once been a small town on the outskirts of one of the larger cities on Cybertron, but right now he wasn't seeing any resemblance to a place mechs and femmes once called home. It was decimated, reduced to a large pile of scrap and debris. Every now and then his optics would land on a body, strewn awkwardly across the ground, metal frames unnaturally cold and stiff with death. At these times he would look away quickly, making a mental mark of each new statistic, because that's what he had to tell himself they were.

Statistics. Not lives.

This new group, the _Decepticons_as they had come to call themselves, was surprisingly brutal in their attacks. It was sickening, but no one felt particularly threatened, nor did Prowl think there was reason to be. It was a rebel group, lead by the one time respected official Megatron. But from what they could tell, this resistance force was disorganized and would not be to difficult to take care of. Everyone just wished it wasn't at the cost of so many lives.

Presently the tactician felt his doorwings twitch as they picked up an approaching body and he turned just enough to see the imposing form of the Autobot CMO Ratchet. He gave a brief nod of greeting, before turning back to the destroyed town.

"Three hundred lives lost, in only three deca-orns. It's disturbing," the medic murmured slowly, optics distant.

Prowl glanced at him momentarily, "It won't last long, we need only to find their center of operations to put these rebellions to rest permanently."

The other mech's systems hummed softly in response. No one was happy with what was going on, but none were as agitated as those who were treating and losing patients to the acts of violence. Ratchet was no exception; in fact he was perhaps the most affected of all of them. His gruff exterior had hardened further ever since the beginning of the problem, and his temper was beginning to flare more often. Prowl was just thankful it wouldn't last.

Right?

_'Scanning complete. All units report back to base. Area has been cleared. No more survivors in the vicinity,'_ the hard voice of one of their communications bots echoed across the general frequency.

With a resigned vent of air, Prowl turned and started back towards the _Ark_. Ratchet didn't move.

"Are you coming?" the tactician inquired, keeping his ever present mask of professionalism.

The medic responded with a distant, contemplative voice, "I will follow shortly."

His younger companion frowned, but decided against pressuring further and simply started on his way again. All the way back, he kept telling himself it was only temporary.

Only temporary.

_............._

Bluestreak looked up at the sound of heavy footfalls. In marched the dirty, weary forms of his fellow Autobots. He stood and saluted his superiors as he had been trained, trying to smile, maybe to brighten their orn even a little. A few returned the gesture, and the twins shot him looks of amusement, Sideswipe making a face. He grinned back, and then paused when he saw his mentor stride in. Even covered in enough dust to coat their entire city, Prowl's very presence demanded a level of respect Bluestreak was sure he himself would never know. He carried himself with a dignity that could challenge even Optimus Prime at times.

"Bluestreak," the black and white tactician acknowledged briefly, sparing him a quick nod before he headed swiftly off to his office.

The young gunner watched him go. Prowl had taught him more than anyone else, and had had more patience with him. He _cared_and believed Bluestreak could actually become something. He wasn't so sure himself. He _wanted_ to be like Prowl, to have an aura that exuded calm and control, to be so commanding everyone _had_ to look to him. But he didn't think he could.

"Bluestreak, are you thinking again? I've warned you about that…."

The young gunner turned around to see Sideswipe grinning widely at him.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" he shot back without missing a beat.

The red twin's grin widened, if that was even possible, "You have learned well, my apprentice. Now go and conquer the galaxy in the name of smart-aft-ness!"

He said this with enough grandeur to choke a gestalt and a pose that made Bluestreak wonder how he had even become a warrior in the first place.

The grey mech snickered and shook his head, looking back over his shoulder at where Prowl had disappeared.

"Why do you look up to him so much?"

Bluestreak was surprised to hear a level of actual sincerity in the infamous prankster's voice, and naturally answered with the same level, "I dunno, I guess it's just cause he kinda took me in and all and so I just feel indebted to him, ya know? And he's really impressive you gotta admit when he-"

"I will admit no such thing," Sideswipe interrupted swiftly with mock disgust, then grinned, "I get it, I get it. Just don't turn into another Prowler, kay? You're too much fun for that."

Bluestreak jerked his head a little in surprise, "Um, okay, but I couldn't do that anyways, cuz you know I'm not cut out for it like he is and I could never-"

"Bluestreak, just take the advice."

"Okay…so long as you never change either."

"Deal, buddy."

_............._

"How was it?" His sparkmate's voice met Ironhide's audios the moment he stepped into their shared quarters.

Chromia was lounging on the berth, optics scanning over a datapad held in her hands. He vented heavily and dragged his feet all the way over to sit next to her.

"That bad, huh?"

His systems thrummed in frustration, "These slaggin' rebels are gettin' outa control. Ah don know how we're goin' ta deal with 'em anymore."

She hummed quietly, "I take it then there wasn't much left?"

Ironhide shook his head in anger, "Fraggers burned it to th' ground."

The feisty blue femme scowled. She was tired. They both were, and nothing was going to change that at this point. She couldn't wait to get her chance at firing a few rounds into one of those Decepticon creeps, they deserved worse after all. All those innocent lives lost, it was so pointless! Chromia was never one to back down from violence, or even avoid it at all, but this was just so _wrong_. She couldn't quite place what it was, but something was definitely different about this.

"Somethin' on yer processor?"

She looked up at her sparkmate, wincing internally at the sound of his exhausted systems wheezing in discomfort. Pushing herself into a somewhat sitting position, she patted her abdomen invitingly. He looked for a moment like he might refuse, but finally the red weapon's specialist leaned back and rested his helm on his sparkmates lower chassis.

"You're getting to old for this scrap," she chided, gently sliding her slender fingers under his shoulder plating, massaging the overstressed and out-of-alignment wiring.

He snorted, "No kiddin'."

_............._

_"We have to try sometime."_

_"But not now. You're drawing energy directly from subspace, meaning there are many possibilities for instability and-"_

_"A: you talk too much, B: you think too much, and C: you worry too much. And you wonder why you have such bad processor aches."_

_"Catalytic, this is a bad idea; I'm really not-"_

_"Shiver, please. I've got this. Nothing will explode, if anything does go wrong, we can fix it easy. Alright? Trust me."_

_"…I do trust you, but not with this."_

_"Ouch."_

_"If you get permission from the commander, I may approve."_

_"I already did. You didn't let me get that far."_

_"I…Oh, well then…I'm still not happy, but if you must…."_

_"I must. Let's give it a shot."_

_............._

Prowl strode swiftly into the medbay's office-like area in the _Ark_, Ratchet's primary residence anymore, faceplates carefully trained into an emotionless mask. Upon entering he was met with the sight of two of the mechs he had come to meet with, along with one femme. The quirked optic ridge he aimed at Ironhide was met with a shrug. Chromia glared at both of them, then went back to her discussion with Ratchet, something about one of the patients, a youngling it sounded like. Not surprising, if Chromia wasn't asking for her own peace of mind, then any of the other femmes would have liked a report on the youngling's condition. Maternal programming; he would never understand it, but he supposed their race couldn't survive without it.

A hesitant ping suddenly came over his comm. link.

_'Go ahead,' _he responded.

_'Um, okay, Prowl I know you're all having a meeting in the medbay and everything since Ratchet can't leave or something, but Optimus said I needed to talk to Ratchet about something cuz Blaster asked me to, so would it be okay if I came, in? I mean I know that I'm not supposed to-'_

As Bluestreak was talking, Prowl walked quietly over to the door and waved a hand over the controls, revealing the young gunner on the other side, who jumped in surprise.

Prowl tilted his head ever so slightly, "Next time, Bluestreak: knock."

With that he turned and strode back over to the other bots assembled in the office, where they could meet in peace and Ratchet could still be close in case of an emergency with their survivors. Bluestreak stared in surprise for a moment longer before following him in to the room, with a quiet, "Yes sir."

_............._

_"Is it…supposed to do that?"_

_"Uh…no. No it's not."_

_"Cata-!"_

_"I know, I know! Okay, look I'll just…uh…I can fix that."_

_............._

An odd shudder ran through the room, and everyone stopped, turning instinctively to Prowl. The tactician frowned and activated his comm.

_'Prowl to Optimus Prime.'_

No response.

He twisted his faceplates in confusion, _'Prowl to Optimus Prime, please respond.'_

That was when the room twisted. It blurred, shifted, and faded.

"What the slag?!" Ratchet's shout was nearly lost, though there was no noise to drown it out.

Prowl staggered back when the ground seemed to rotate beneath them, and he grabbed Bluestreak's arm to prevent him from keeling over.

_............._

_"CATALYTIC!!!"_

_"I'M WORKING ON IT!"_

_"What is _that_?!"_

_"What is…oh. Um, that's a…portal?"_

_"A…? Oh Primus, Cat, you didn't."_

_"Look, chances are nothing will come through, except maybe some energy or…something. We just…wait it out?"_

_"…I am going to disassemble you."_

_............._

A shock wave rocked through the room. It rippled and shifted, and a deafening _ba-boom!_ resounded through the ship. Everything twisted as a kaleidoscope of dancing, whirling color, and then…silence.

"…Oops."

* * *

_Lizard: And so it begins...._

_If you see mistakes, let me know, my fingers tend to get going a little too fast so I don't catch the errors. That and some words just don't want to be spelled or used correctly by me...._

_Okay, review if you want more! _

_LIZARD OUT_


	2. Chapter 1

_Lizard: Um...I don't know what to say..._

_Well, now you're going to find out who Catalytic and Shiver are, what's going on (basically) and a few other...details. Yeah. Have at it._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or any related characters. Just Shiver and Catalytic. Yeah._

* * *

Ironhide was, understandably, very confused. And for Ironhide, confused equals angry, and angry equals trigger-happy. Which was why he immediately took aim at the two transformers standing in front of them.

The purple and charcoal grey mech jerked back and held his hands up in surrender, blue optics wide in something that could have been panic, "Woah! Wait wait wait, I got this, just…let me explain!"

Next to him a tiny femme, white with some pale blue accents, gave him a dirty look, "You are so fragged."

He turned to give her a withering look, "I'm well aware of that, Shiver."

"A'right, one o' you had better start talkin', 'fore I start shootin'!" Ironhide interrupted with a growl.

The femme, Shiver it would seem, glowered at her comrade pointedly, "Yes, Catalytic, why don't you explain what you have done?"

"Way to throw me under the gestalt…," he responded darkly, then looked nervously back at the intimidating Autobots, "See, I don't really know what went wrong, but, uh…it would seem my subspace energy transistor -complicated, don't ask- malfunctioned and opened a portal of sorts to…wherever you all are from."

Ratchet gave the younger mech a skeptical look, "You mean Cybertron?"

Catalytic looked thoroughly confused, "Cybertron? But that's-," he cut off and a look of horror spread across his features, "Ooooo…Oh slag. I just…oh slag."

Shiver turned and glared, "What did you do?"

He grinned nervously, running a hand over the back of his head, and Ironhide noticed the two headfins placed at a slight angle on his helm, almost identical to Wheeljack's, "Well, ya see, there's this thing called the space-time continuum? And uh, well it can get, you know, torn sometimes, by uh…."

As he was talking, Shiver's ice blue optics had grown progressively wider until it looked almost painful, "You did _what?!_"

He flinched, but turned back to the Autobots, who were all still watching him warily, Ironhide, Chromia, and Bluestreak with drawn weapons, "Um, yeah I thought you all looked familiar. Prowl, Ratchet, Ironhide, Chromia, and…B-Bluestreak, right?"

Prowl was the one who spoke, optics narrowed dangerously, "That is correct. How do you know us?"

Catalytic twisted his mouthplates uncomfortably, "I, uh….can you put the weapons down? Please? I'm an unarmed scientist, okay, not gonna hurt you!"

Ironhide's systems snarled menacingly, "Well ya got us here, I find that a bit threatenin'."

"Uh, yeah, that was an accident though. Trust me; killing any of you would be seriously bad news for us. So…yeah, just, uh, put them away?"

Prowl stopped Ironhide from verbally beating the kid with his own implied warning, "You have yet to explain the situation to us," he pointed out none-too-kindly.

Catalytic winced and looked helplessly at Shiver, who gave him a plain "you got yourself into it, you get yourself out" look.

"Look, I, we, it…Mymachinemalfunctionedandtore aholeinthespacetimecontinuum thatdraggedyouall fromyourtimetonow whichforyouisthefuture soyeahitwasanaccidentandI'mreallysorry!"

Silence.

Ratchet was the first to speak, "Say again?"

Catalytic vented heavily, "I said that my machine must have malfunctioned and tore a hole in the space-time continuum, which in turn pulled you all from the past, your present, to now, your future."

Another pause.

Bluestreak spoke up for the first time, "Uh, what?"

Shiver finally rolled her optics and decided to come to her coworkers rescue, "Welcome to your future, and sorry, but it's not too pretty."

There was a moment in which everyone processed this, then there was a "fzzzt!" sound and Prowl promptly fell over. Apparently time travel didn't sit well with his logic chips.

* * *

"I'm really really sorry about this! I mean, I didn't think it was possible, but apparently it is, and I should have been more careful, it just…the energy spike, and the fluctuations, I didn't know what to do! And so…," Catalytic was ranting more to himself than anyone else as he went about running diagnostics, hoping to find the problem, "I swear, I'll get you back as fast as I can!"

Shiver quirked an optic ridge, "_I_ talk too much?"

"Mute it."

Chromia spoke up, still a bit stunned by the "diagnosis" and not sure if she believed it, "Why would it have taken us?"

Catalytic looked up, seemingly surprised at someone else's voice besides his or Shiver's, "Uh, I don't know-"

"Where were you when the teleport occurred?" It was Shiver who spoke, her back to the group as she fiddled with some console at the other end of the room.

"My office," Ratchet muttered, still working on rebooting Prowl's processors.

Shiver thrummed softly, "That was…off the old medbay, correct?"

"That's right," he replied in a distracted manner.

"Well then, that makes sense. This room was the medbay once, before we made some changes to serve our purposes better. The medbay was moved to a more convenient location for our needs. Because you were in the same area in your time that the portal appeared in ours, it only makes sense that you would be the ones taken. It's merely a stroke of bad luck. And stupidity."

"You're not usually this disagreeable," Catalytic observed dryly, "Oh wait, yes you are."

"I'm a realist. Sugar-coating is a waste of time."

"At least then people like you!"

Ironhide snorted at their bickering, apparently a common occurrence, and looked around the room in a bored manner. It really did look a lot like the medbay, with quite a bit more unfamiliar devices and machinery, but the basic design was the same. Still there was no way….

'_Is time travel even possible?'_ Chromia's voice suddenly asked incredulously over a comm. link to the three other still online Autobots.

Ratchet's mouthplates twisted in consideration, '_Not sure. It would take _tremendous_ amounts of power I would imagine, and it doesn't appear they have that in good supply.'_

_'Well I'm not buying into this scrap,' _Ironhide muttered darkly, crossing his arms and glaring at Catalytic, who cowered slightly when he noticed the attention.

"Uh…hi?"

Ironhide snorted, "Ya know we're not gonna believe this time travel slag, so why don'tcha just spit out th' truth?"

Catalytic winced and looked around helplessly, "It…is the truth. I'm not very good at lying, really. I start rambling," he tilted his helm almost pleadingly, "I don't know how to make you believe me. You can look around the room, try to find something familiar?"

Ironhide rumbled dangerously, but Ratchet cut him off with a comm. '_'Hide, I think we should consider they may be telling the truth. There is something definitely familiar about this room, and I can't come up with any other explanation.'_

The weapons specialist grunted and glared at his friend, before scanning the room again. Yes, he had already decided it looked like the medbay, but that didn't mean anything. It could be some elaborate Decepticon plot…Primus he was starting to sound like that new security director….

"What's that?" he suddenly asked, pointing at the far wall.

Catalytic looked up to see where he was pointing, then at the indicated mark. A small flaw on the otherwise pristine walls, it was a tiny hole through the thick metal, scarcely noticeable to anyone except those who knew it was there.

The grey and purple mech frowned, "I have no idea. It's been there forever."

Ironhide walked slowly over to the mark and ran his fingers over it with narrowed optics, "I made that. Th' Hatchet yanked on some o' mah wirin' too hard, an' I fired a shot inta th' wall…."

There was a thoughtful "hmm" across the room from the medic himself, "I remember that. You got a pretty good dent in the helm for that one."

Ironhide continued scrutinizing the small hole, made by a simple laser shot, then turned to look at the mech and femme who had apparently brought them there, "Which means…ya'll might be tellin' th' truth."

Ratchet looked over his shoulder at the red mech, "I'll recognize any mark you see if this really is the medbay."

Ironhide nodded vaguely, distracted by his close inspection of the room. Shiver and Catalytic watched him almost warily, while Chromia followed her mate's progress with anticipation, and Bluestreak started scanning the room as well.

"Hey doc, what about that one?" Bluestreak chirped, pointing to a dent right where the wall met the floor under one of the tables along the wall they were closest to.

Catalytic ducked his head to see even as Ratchet just glanced up from his work on their incapacitated tactician.

"Stray wrench. Ricocheted off Jazz's helm."

Catalytic thrummed in interest, "You have good mem banks. Is anyone starting to believe us yet?" he added looking around at the others.

Ironhide didn't answer at first; he was looking at something on the floor. After a moment, the mech started to chuckle softly, then slowly turned around.

"Yeah, I'm startin' to. That crack in th' floor was from Sideswipe. Didn' he try ta flip or somthin' to prove he was fine?"

Ratchet craned his neck to see the indicated flaw, and a scowl settled over his features at the memory, "Yes, and he fell on his helm and just gave me even _more_ work to do."

Chromia turned to look almost wonderingly at the young mech and femme standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, "So you _are_ telling the truth."

Shiver's face remained neutral, "That is correct."

Meanwhile Catalytic grinned sheepishly, "Once again, my fault."

His partner rolled her optics, "Get back to work and fix it, fragger."

He sort of jerked in response and nodded rapidly, sending the others an apologetic grin, "Sorry, we're on a deadline, so we're in a bit of a rush. Don't mean to push you all aside or anything, I am making this a priority, I assure you," he explained nervously.

Ratchet dragged Prowl to his feet, the tactician still a bit groggy, but coming back to the land of the living relatively well, "Wheeljack."

Catalytic froze, an odd look coming to his optics, "W-what?"

Ratchet turned around calmly to look at the scientist, "Your mech creator was Wheeljack."

It wasn't a question, and sounded almost like a disinterested observation of someone who couldn't care less. But the purple and grey mech went completely rigid and if Cybertronians could pale he would be whiter than a sheet. Shiver had whipped around, optics wide, and was looking back and forth between the two in alarm. Slowly, Catalytic reached up and rubbed his headfins.

"Guess these kinda gave it away, huh?" he asked weakly.

Ratchet shrugged, watching the younger mech carefully, "That and your speaking patterns. They're similar to his."

Catalytic grinned shakily, "Yeah, I've been told I'm…I'm a lot like he was."

Chromia wasn't the only one to jerk in surprise, but she was the first to speak, "Was?"

The young mech nodded and turned quickly back to his work, voice barely audible, "He was killed in battle several vorns ago."

That took a moment to process. Not all of them were all that familiar with the cheery walking explosion-waiting-to-happen, but they knew him enough to hear the sheer _wrongness_ of that statement. Wheeljack killed in _battle_? He was an engineer! And the thought of such a warm, friendly mech being dead was…wrong.

Abruptly Catalytic turned around towards the door and left, muttering something about needing to talk to someone named Monochrome.

Shiver winced as he left and turned to the others, "I'm sorry that's a…sore spot for him. He and Wheeljack were close, and Catalytic…he never got to say goodbye."

Ironhide shook his head slowly, "What was a 'bot like 'Jack doin' in battle anyways?"

She pursed her lip components, "How much do you all know about the war?"

The group of five exchanged several very confused glances, and Prowl spoke up first, "What war?"

Shiver nodded as though confirming something, "We're at war. We have been for as long as I can remember, and I'm one of the oldest left on this ship. As soon as things started going bad they started using everyone capable of holding a gun, Wheeljack was actually one of the best by the time he…left."

Prowl narrowed his optics, "At war with who?"

"The Decepticons. You know them, don't you?" she asked mildly.

Chromia scoffed, "Those half-processed glitches? They couldn't handle a war against Autobots, they'd be wiped out in an orn!"

That struck a nerve.

Shiver's optics went ice cold and her expression slid into a deadly mask, while she spoke quietly with barely contained venom, "Oh really? Well then, tell that to the millions who have lost their homes, their families, and their own lives. I'm sure they would be _relieved_ to know that the Decepticons couldn't defeat us, that the Autobots are indestructible and _that's why_ we're all dying now. You know, I can take you to plenty of mechs and femmes right now who would love to hear this _wonderful_ news," her visage shifted to something almost like sorrow, "I never even _met_ my mech creator, Perceptor, and the last thing I ever heard my femme creator say was she couldn't be tied down by a sparkling during a war. So don't you _dare_ tell me what the Decepticons can or can't do, because you didn't live it. _We did._"

That rendered them all speechless for a few breems while she went back to her work, still fuming.

Chromia finally found her vocalizer again and spoke hesitantly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…offend."

Shiver snorted and didn't turn around, simply continuing her work, whatever that was. Many of the devices and consoles looked half-scrapped, or like they had come from the salvaged parts of very damaged machines. The silence stretched on, uncomfortable for most, but Shiver seemed completely unaffected, perfectly fine with everyone standing awkwardly behind her. Ratchet was still trying to wrap his processor around the apparent fact that she was Perceptor's creation. He could really see no resemblance between their personalities. Prowl, meanwhile, was still a bit too dizzy to do any hard thinking.

Bluestreak suddenly piped in a bit nervously, breaking apart everyone's thoughts, "So…does that mean all of us are dead? I mean I'm sorry maybe that's not something I should ask, but is it okay if I do I mean I don't-"

Slowly the white and blue femme turned around with a quirked optic ridge, the change of subject seeming to calm her, "You really did… do… whatever… you talk a lot, don't you? No, that's an understandable question," she tilted her head and looked towards the door, "Commander's here, you can ask him yourself."

"What?"

Just as he said that, there was the sound of doors whooshing open, and they all turned around to look. There in the doorway was an imposing figure, doorwings held high and proud, blue optics piercing, and chevron gleaming in the light. As they all stared in absolute stunned silence, a strong, commanding voice arose from the figure.

"Well now, what have we here?"

* * *

_Lizard: Dun dun DUUUUUNNN!!!! Who is this mysterious Commander? (As if you couldn't already guess... It's Starscream ;P *gasp, shifty eyes* she has thrown in a twist! ...eh, not really. Seriosly though, you should be able to guess who it is. It's not like obvious or anything...__) And where am I going with this story?_

_Ehm, yes. I hope that didn't come across as rushed...since I do that sometimes, and I hope Catalytic and Shiver were likeable enough. And I hope Ironhide's accent isn't as annoying to read as it is to write. I really shouldn't do that, it just happens. Whatever. Sorry._

_Um...review? To bolster my microscopic self-esteem?_

_...I once again have nothing more to say. It is late, my brain is going into standby mode...no transformers pun intended._

_Thanks for reading!!_

_LIZARD OUT_


	3. Chapter 2

_Lizard: Here it is, chapter...two? Yeah, or three if you count the prologue. Um...There's never anything to say at the beginning! *shameless whining*_

_Frog: I helped!_

_Lizard: Oh, fine. There you go. Frog helped. *smirk* Any mistakes are hers. There you go. Author's note DONE._

_Frog: I helped a lot!_

_Lizard: Be quiet, no one cares._

_Disclaimer: If I owned it, what would I be doing here? I only lay claim to my OCs._

**_missing: runnawayline...T-T DARN YOU FANFICTION(DOT)NET, DARN YOU ALL TO SUBURBIA!!! (please ignore random inside joke...)_**

Looking back and forth between this newcomer and his identical counterpart, Ironhide couldn't help but gape. Ratchet was stiffened in alarm, optics flickering slightly as though he was trying to readjust them, disbelieving his own sight. Chromia just stared with a blank look on her faceplates, probably waiting for her processor to catch up. For a moment, Prowl seemed to hold up pretty well, but the optic twitching was probably not a good sign. Bluestreak was…silent. For once in his life, the kid wasn't talking, moving, or even venting. He was just standing there, staring at the mech before him.

The mech who _was_ him.

This older, war-torn mech chuckled lightly. He looked exactly like Bluestreak besides a collection of old and new scars marring his slightly bulkier frame, and a different, more haunted look to his optics.

"Wh-what the frag?!" Ratchet was the first to find his vocalizer again, and the newcomer inclined his head slightly in the medic's direction.

"It's good to see you all again, despite the circumstances," he paused and passed a practiced eye over Bluestreak, who was still frozen, "Though seeing you comes as a bit more…uncanny."

At this point, the young gunner managed to speak, "Are…are you…?"

The old mech smiled slightly in something that could be sympathy, "I'm you. Older, a bit rougher around the edges, but still the same bot."

Prowl's optic twitching became a bit more pronounced and Ratchet reached over almost subconsciously to tweak some wiring at the back of his helm.

"How…I don't…understand," Bluestreak stammered.

The mech smiled knowingly, "Shiver and Catalytic have explained to you what happened, correct?"

They all nodded mutely.

"Well, then allow me to summarize what you may have missed. I am Commander Bluestreak of the Autobot Remnant Force. We are all that are left of the Autobot faction, besides a few small free-range groups, after the war with the Decepticons was lost on Cybertron. Those under my direct command are mostly the offspring of those who once served with the late Optimus Prime in Iacon. This is what remains of the _Ark_, now crippled and turned into our base of operations."

Once again there was silence, until Shiver spoke up where she was working once again on some console, "Okay…maybe you still talk a lot."

"In your opinion, Shiver," the Commander chuckled softly, "Where did Catalytic run off to?"

She frowned, "He said he had to go do something. I'm sure he'll be back soon, it's pretty hard to keep him away from his lab."

No sooner had she said this than the door to the lab slid open to reveal a much more composed Catalytic. He grinned slightly at those assembled there and strode over to one of the consoles.

"I'm back, didja miss me?" he cooed at Shiver.

Her systems gave a sound similar to a snort and she glared. Ratchet took this brief moment to look over their frames. They really did look like they had been designed by masters, namely Percepter and Wheeljack, even if they had had sub par materials. Catalytic's frame wasn't as bulky as his father's, but he was by no means small. He looked well balanced and built not only to withstand heavy damage, but to have adequate maneuverability. Shiver was tiny. At first glance she was absolutely not built with battle in mind, but looking closer, Ratchet could see her lithe form was probably one of the most graceful and agile he had seen. She may not be doing any fighting, but Perceptor hadn't left her helpless.

The Commander looked over at Catalytic, "Everything all right, Cat?"

He was answered by a slight flashing of Wheeljack's old vocal indicators, "Yep! Well…no, since they're here and that was my fault, but…."

He looked up sheepishly at his leader, who merely quirked an optic ridge, "Can you fix this?"

Catalytic's systems thrummed in thought for a moment, "I think so? It may take some time though…."

His optics turned to the bots from his past and winced. The Commander noticed this and followed his gaze, finding it landed on none other than the Autobot's old medic, CMO Ratchet. Wheeljack's best friend, Catalytic's "uncle." This was going to be tricky. Thank Primus Shiver chose to actually help someone else and stepped in.

"I hate to kick you all out, but Cat and I need to be able to concentrate without _any_ distractions if we're ever going to get you back. Besides, it'll probably get really boring for you just standing around in here, so…maybe the Commander can take you somewhere?" She said in a clipped, not really apologetic tone.

Commander Bluestreak inclined his helm in affirmation and perhaps some gratitude, "If you'll all follow me," he turned to the door, "There's a few bots who will want to speak with you anyways."

"No, uh, ya know, no one that could cause problems," Catalytic called over his shoulder.

The Commander chuckled, "Of course, I don't want any breakdowns. Good luck, kids."

_That_ was something Ironhide personally had never thought he would hear _Bluestreak_ say, and if Prowl's small double-take was any indication, neither had he. But they followed the Commander without a word, and were lead swiftly down several corridors. Ironhide realized he recognized where they were. He supposed he shouldn't be so surprised, they had said this was the Ark, but it was still odd. In their time, the Ark was being used as transport from Iacon to other places on Cybertron where the Decepticons had attacked, it wasn't outfitted for long distance flight, which meant that at some point it must have been upgraded.

It was…unsettling to say the least to walk through halls that in their time would be bustling with activity. Here everything seemed dead. Along the walls one could occasionally see scorch marks or dents in the once flawless metal. At one point there was some stain on the floor, and Ironhide recognized the sight of old energon when he saw it. This corridor had been a battlefield, and mechs had died. Ironhide wondered if he had known them.

The Commander stopped abruptly at one of the doors at the end of the hall. The old weapon's specialist recognized it as the door to the control room, if that was what they still used it for. Their guide held up his hand for a moment, indicating he was using his comm., before nodding sharply and activating the controls on the door. It didn't escape anyone's notice (except perhaps Bluestreak's, he was still a bit distracted) that the door opened more sluggishly than they remembered, and in fact seemed to catch at one point, causing a slight groaning sound of metal.

"Sir."

The voice that greeted them was, surprisingly, a femme's. They were led in, and faced with the owner of the voice, a tall black bot. Her cuff armor was mismatched, on one side it was brilliant yellow and a bit too heavy for her size, while on the other it was almost too small, and a sort of cream color. Yellow optics watched them with intense interest. At first they didn't notice her companion, but when they did, it wasn't at all what they had expected to see.

He looked like Sideswipe.

Only not.

The mech behind her looked exactly like the red twin, but his faceplates were dead of emotion. He stood rigid, body unnaturally still, seemingly totally focused and centered on the femme. There was absolutely no response to the newcomers; he didn't even twitch when the Commander started introductions.

"Everyone, I think you know who these are, but I'll refresh your mem. banks. Ratchet, Autobot CMO, Prowl, second in command, Ironhide, Weapons specialist, Chromia, his bonded, and weapons specialist for the femme forces, and…."

"Bluestreak," the femme piped up, a small smirk playing on her lip components, "What, you've never introduced yourself, sir?"

He gave her a look but ignored the comment otherwise, "And these are our new leaders. Ebonyshield," he indicated the black femme, "Clippershot, Topliner, Shatterflash, and First Aid."

They hadn't noticed the others in the room, so commanding were (future) Bluestreak and Ebonyshield. Clippershot was as dusky grey, blue, and brown, and had some almost familiar, star-like decals, and a slightly uneasy, though friendly grin. Topliner, a tall, lanky red and white mech who looked like he could easily be distracted by some shiny object, was grinning as well, but more like and idiot than uneasily. Shatterflash was a yellow and white femme, watching them with a guarded, calculating gaze.

The last mech looked like he wanted to be anywhere, even fighting a thousand Decepticons by himself, than here. First Aid was red and white, with some blue, and a visor and face mask, making his expression hard to read, but it didn't take a genius to see not only his discomfort, but his annoyance.

"Yes, we all know each other now, so can we move on?" First Aid snapped, glaring murderously at the Commander.

Ironhide noticed no one even acknowledged the presence of the Sideswipe look alike. His name wasn't mentioned; no one looked in his direction. It was like he didn't exist.

"Of course, First Aid," the Commander replied, ignoring the look he was getting, "You all know what's happened, don't you?"

There was a chorus of "Yes sirs" "Uh-huhs" and even one "affirmative." So he continued.

"Well, Catalytic and Shiver believe they can solve the problem. However, they can't do that at the same time as having these unfortunate bots trapped in their lab, thus we have the responsibility of finding somewhere for them to stay until they can go home. Any suggestions?"

Chromia, though not technically addressed, spoke up first, "Why do we need a specific place to stay?"

"You must understand that things are different now. None of you, except…me obviously, are still alive. Imagine seeing a dead friend or mentor, or even creator again, and knowing they were going to leave just as soon as they've come. I can't have that right now," the Commander explained gently.

The femme shuttered her optics once, it hadn't occurred to her that they were…deactivated. Or that anyone would care.

The yellow and white femme, Shatterflash spoke up next, a flowing accent coloring the words, "We will need someplace out of the way, but not where they will be alone, yes?"

"That's right."

She nodded thoughtfully, "Echoclick is by himself most of the day, no? Why not let them stay with him?"

Clippershot tilted his head thoughtfully, "That would make sense, he's friendly, I'm sure he'd like the company, and no one but us really goes into the communications deck anyways."

The Commander nodded slowly, "That's an idea…."

Ratchet, scowling, butted in to the conversation, "Pardon the interruption, but who is this Echoclick? And do we have no say in this?"

Topliner looked over at him mildly, "No."

There was a loud clang as Clippershot roughly cuffed the taller mech over the back of the helm before proceeding to explain, "Echoclick is our communications officer. And of course you have some say in the matter, but unfortunately the final decision isn't yours."

Prowl nodded in agreement, "Logical. We know so little about this time, we couldn't possibly make an appropriate decision. Calm down Ratchet," he added when the medic continued to scowl in irritation.

The Commander watched them almost sentimentally before looking back at his officers, "So, Echoclick or no Echoclick?"

Ebonyshield tilted her head, "It sounds good to me. But everyone is going to want to know what's going on, they've already figured out there's something strange, we never call meetings like this, especially without, well you know who. What I need to know is what I'm going to be telling them all."

She gave her leader a pointed look and he twisted his faceplates, "Tell them we have guests, but that no on is to disturb them. We'll keep as many out of the loop as possible, which means no talking about this. Topliner," he gave the mech a meaningful look.

Topliner looked offended, "Hey, I don't gossip!"

"No, you just have a big mouth," Clippershot responded dryly, to which the lanky red and white mech scowled.

The Commander's lips twitched upwards into a small, sad smile, "It's decided then. Shatterflash, would you show them to the communications deck?"

She nodded briefly, "Of course," with a wave of her hand she beckoned their "guests" to follow her out of the room, "This way, please."

She moved briskly, her body held erect and proud, going down hallway after hallway, up a transport until they came to what used to be the rec room…Ironhide thought at least. It certainly bore no resemblance now. At least this part of the ship didn't look so battle scarred as the corridors around the lab. Briefly he wondered if it had been the lab or the medbay when whatever attacks that caused the marks had occurred. The thought was cut off, however, when Shatterflash activated the control panel and opened the door to the old rec room.

It had definitely been remodeled.

The entire far wall was a solid, one way window with various consoles and control panels lining it, and a few chairs were strewn about. The room wasn't as dully lit as the rest of the ship because of the natural light from what appeared to be an organic world streaming in. A mech was tinkering with the equipment, some of which beeped quietly, and flickered with life, but none of it looked to be in good shape. Of course, everything on the ship seemed to be dying: the lights, controls, even what they had seen of the bots living there. Sure, they were alive and seemingly healthy, but a glance at some confirmed they must be low on supplies. Topliner, for example, had far too little armor for one his size.

The mech occupying this room, however, had him beat in that department.

He wasn't as tall as the other mechs, still he had the frame of one who should be heavily built. But he wasn't. There was hardly any armor besides some basic covering on his body, and to their horror, one leg was entirely missing, causing him to use a piece of scrap metal as a support, sort of a cane. The only armor on his entire body that looked appropriately sized was the heavy, bright red-orange shoulder plating. His cuff armor was smallish with mismatched green coloring, and a piece of armor on his forearm was colored light brown. Otherwise, his light armor was mostly black and red, and a painfully large amount of wiring and other fragile parts were visible where it didn't cover.

It was disturbing to see a such a young mech so fragile, yet so…happy.

"Well hey there! So are these the ones, Shatter?" he crowed, when he finally noticed he wasn't alone.

She nodded curtly, "That is correct. I hope it will not be a problem?"

He waved a hand dismissively, "No, no problem at all. You're free to go, madam," he bowed, a bit awkwardly, to the femme.

Shatterflash smiled ever so slightly, then turned and disappeared out the door. The mech turned his attention back to those left.

"Hmm…this is very weird, but I'm sure you're more confused than me so…pull up a chair!" he waved an arm around the room, "Sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting company."

He limped over to a chair and sat down heavily, grin never leaving his faceplates. The others, however were still understandably very bewildered, and he motioned them over to sit near him.

"Come on, I was given permission to answer most of your questions, since I'm pretty sure no on else has taken the time to do that yet," he chuckled lightly, "The chairs are about in the best condition of anything in here, myself included, so they won't break, and if you want to go ahead and sit on the consoles, they're pretty banged up already."

His charm was working, and they relaxed minutely, besides Prowl, whose logic chips where still recovering from shock after shock. Ratchet finally vented in exasperation and grabbed a chair, dropping into it across from the young mech.

"So you're Echoclick," he observed, and the mech looked startled.

"How'd ya know that? I didn't even introduce myself yet!" he gaped

Ratchet snorted, "They told us."

"Oh, well, that would make sense. Primus I must be loosing it," he sighed, then grinned, "Yeah, Echoclick, that's me!"

The Autobot CMO nodded while the others slowly joined them, Prowl standing stiffly off to the side, Chromia leaning against a control panel, Ironhide in another chair, and Bluestreak awkwardly shuffling his feet, looking a little shell-shocked.

Echoclick looked over at said gunner with mild concern, "Ya alright there Com- …eh, I mean Bluestreak?" he grinned sheepishly, "…This is weird."

Bluestreak looked up, "Yeah…yeah I'm fine it's just….yeah, weird like you said...soooo weird…weirdweirdweird…"

The damaged mech nodded looking a bit concerned at the mumbling, "Yep. Or you could say uncanny, bizarre, freaky, wild, not-exactly-an-everyday-experience, etcetera. Thus I'm sure the confusion is killing you all. So you guys have any questions?" he suddenly grinned almost like a salesbot trying to make a deal.

Bluestreak jumped in almost immediately, not looking at anyone else, "Who was the red mech with…Ebony-something? Sorry I can't remember her name, I'm usually really good with those but my processor is kinda having some trouble keeping up with all this and so yeah what was his name, cuz...cuz he looked familiar."

Echoclick looked surprised that this would be the first thing asked, but they all wanted to know and looked at him curiously, so he answered with the same easy tone, "It's Ebonyshield. And that would be Sideswipe, do you know him?"

Everything froze for a moment.

Really they should have known, but no matter how they felt about the troublesome mech they had honestly hoped it wasn't him. No one ever wanted a mech so full of life to look so…dead.

Echoclick shifted uncomfortably at the shocked and horrified looks aimed at him, "I'll take that as a yes."

Ratchet spoke awkwardly, "At least he isn't deactivated."

The young mech grimaced at that, "No, but really he might as well be. He really only exists to protect Ebonyshield anymore. Nothing else matters."

Bluesteak looked up in confusion, "What about Sunstreaker?"

Echoclick's expression softened, "Sunstreaker's dead. He was killed several vorns ago," he explained gently.

Another shockwave for the group to absorb. Echoclick respectfully remained silent as he allowed them to come to terms with that.

The gunner looked almost hurt, "How…?"

"The Decepticons set an ambush. It was mostly for Sunstreaker, they wanted to get rid of him, since he was our strongest warrior along with his brother, and they hoped by deactivating one twin the other would go as well. What they didn't take into account was Ebonyshield," Echoclick murmured, a bit distantly.

Ratchet made a face, "What does that little femme have to do with anything?"

He jerked almost if he was physically surprised out of his thoughts, "She's Sunstreaker's creation."

Pause.

_'fzzzt!'_

**_Crash!_**

It was probably a new record for the amount of time it took for Prowl to completely short out.

* * *

_Lizard: Prowl isn't doing well. Nope, not at all. This is exactly the kind of situation he is supposed to avoid, by order of his therapist. That and anything involving the twins. But we all know how well _that_ goes...._

_Okay, when I say Shatterflash has an accent, I mean kinda...French. I just didn't want to try typing out the pronunciation. With First Aid, they don't know him yet, the Protectobots have yet to be created in their timeline, but yes it is the same First Aid who was once so innocent and friendly._

_And now it's time for...*cheesy game show music plays* Guess the Creator!!! Okay, here it is. In this chapter you have met FOUR, that's right FOUR, new bots with yet-to-be-explained origins! They are:_

_Clippershot_

_Topliner_

_Shatterflash_

_and Echoclick_

_Leave a review with your guess on their parents (or at least the dad) and you get COOKIES! Cyber-cookies...from SPACE!!!!! Woo-Hoo! *applause*_

_yeah...see ya!_

_LIZARD OUT_


	4. Chapter 3

_Lizard: I'm baaaa-aaack! Eh, better late than never, I guess._

_Now, in this chapter I reveal the parents of all four of the 'bots from last chapter. I'll recap at the end in case you miss it. And...that's all I have to say at this point so....here ya go!_

_Disclaimer: Believe it or not, I don't own Transformers! Fancy that_!

* * *

"Is he okay?" Echoclick asked, concern evident in his voice as he leaned forward in his chair to see Prowl around Ratchet's crouching frame.

Ratchet snorted, "Anymore of this and he'll damage himself. I'm leaving him offline for the time being, give his processors some time to recover."

The young mech nodded slowly and leaned back, shooting them a sheepish look, "My bad, I forget sometimes how things used to be. Now it's all just natural, but I guess in your time it'd be pretty unlikely."

Chromia's systems huffed, "_Unlikely_ isn't a word I would use."

"More like _impossible_." Ironhide agreed.

Echoclick chuckled and leaned back to a more comfortable position, "Okay…well, you can ask any other questions you have I guess, or look out the windows. Ya know, bot watch. Most of 'em will be outside at this time, most of the living quarters on the ship were decimated vorns ago."

Ratchet thrummed, before straightening. He glanced over at Bluestreak, who had sat down on the floor and was holding his head in his hands; the kid was taking this hard.

"What can you tell us about this Ebonyshield?" he asked, sitting back down.

Echoclick whistled through his vents, "Tons. She's become the Autobot figure head, our new Optimus Prime. She's the rallying force behind it all, the Commander's the technical leader by default, but when it comes down to it, she's the one they all look to."

"And…this is Sunstreaker's daughter? The psychotic sociopath Sunstreaker?" Ratchet asked skeptically.

The crippled mech smirked, "We aren't quite sure how it happened either, to be honest. Could be her femme creator…someone said it may have to do with the spark split between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker like…because they're the same spark split in two, some of him slipped over into her…or…something like that. I don't know, I don't ask. Not my area," he held up his hands, "She's not exactly a fighter either. She _can_ fight, but not well."

Ratchet tilted his head, "So she wasn't built to be a warrior."

"Nope, diplomat. Femme creator's work, not Sunstreaker's. Though, everyone was still shocked at how well that actually went over," he added thoughtfully.

Ironhide's old systems rumbled in agreement, "I take it then there isn't a Prime anymore?"

Echoclick's smile was sort of sad, "No. Optimus Prime was the last we had. And his son…great guy and all but uh…have you met Topliner yet? Tall, red and white, a little dorky looking…."

They nodded, so he continued.

"Yeah, that's Elita One and Optimus Prime's son. Once again, we're…not sure what happened," he rubbed the back of his helm, "He's a good bot, but…Ebonyshield has him beat in the leadership department."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, each consumed by their own thoughts. Chromia was looking out the enormous bay window, down at the mechs and femmes milling about below. She guessed none of them could see her, and none looked up anyways. Their frames were scarred and often appeared to not fit right, but they still all looked much too young. A range of different expressions touched a range of different faceplates. Some looked angry, others afraid, and still others looked like all was right with their world, even though obviously nothing was.

"Why doesn't their paint all match?"

She didn't realize at first she had asked the question out loud until Echoclick started answering.

"You haven't figured it out yet? Alright, I assume you've met Catalytic, so you saw his headfins? Yeah, those are Wheeljack's, his mech creator. And my shoulder and cuff armor was my creators', both of them. This patch on my arm," he indicated a light brown forearm piece, "was my sister's."

He smiled sadly, "When things started to go bad, we lost access to materials, so we had to salvage from deactivated bots. A sort of…tradition was started, whenever someone from your family is deactivated, you get some physical piece of them before their parts are taken for others. We don't change the colors or anything; it's our way of remembering them, in a physical sense. We keep going because of what we've had to leave behind us."

Ratchet was carefully scrutinizing the young mech, before his optic's widened, "Ah, I see it now. Those shoulder plates are from that mech…Blaster?"

Echoclick nodded, "Yeah. I don't think you know my femme creator yet."

Chromia frowned and looked back out at the clearing below the ship, "So that's why Ebonyshield had the odd cuff armor?"

"Yep. If you look out there you might see some other things you recognize."

"Wait," she paused and turned back to him, "You said your sister? Does that mean…."

His faceplates were completely neutral as he answered, "It isn't just the creators who have been killed. Many bots younger than me have met an untimely and violent end. My sister was barely out of younglinghood when a stray shot pierced her spark chamber. Mercifully it was after loosing our creators already, so they didn't have to suffer, but not everyone was so lucky…."

A sharp squeal from one of the machines cut off any continued conversation as Echoclick rose to acknowledge it. His one leg made a painful sounding groan and his frame creaked a bit at the unnatural weight dispersal, but he didn't even twitch while limping across the room to the still complaining machine. A few pressed keys and a flip of a switch and the alarm stopped, if it could even be called an alarm. Bluestreak had finally lifted his head to watch the mech's progress. Echoclick awkwardly hobbled back and lowered himself carefully back into the chair, grimacing only for a moment when something in his lower chassis caught uncomfortably.

"What happened to you?" Bluestreak asked softly, optics scanning over the mangled stump that had once been a leg.

Echoclick looked up from readjusting some wiring in his other leg, "Bomb. Blew my leg clean off, and they couldn't repair it enough to reattach it. I gave up most of my armor because I wouldn't need it anymore and we have so few supplies someone else could use it more than me. Besides, at this point even if the Decepticons did somehow get inside it would be too late for me. It's not like I could really hold them off with only one leg, so I'd be deactivated either way."

He vented heavily and gave Bluestreak a slight grin, which the gunner returned somewhat shakily, "It's not very good here then, is it?"

Echoclick's expression softened, "No. It really isn't, but that won't stop us. Really though, this is such a morbid conversation we're having. A subject change is an order…actually; maybe you've all had enough for one orn. How about I find out if Shatterflash can get you someplace to recharge besides my floor, huh?"

He grinned brightly at them and held up a hand as he activated a comm. with the young femme. A moment later and he nodded.

"She'll see what she can do. Oh, and if you need anything for his…logic chip problem, just let me know and I'll talk to First Aid," he assured.

Ratchet's faceplates twisted in a slight grimace, "First Aid…he was the mech from the meeting, wasn't he? He didn't appear to be too fond of us."

Echoclick's sad smile returned, "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't know him yet, would you?" he shook his helm as though answering his own question, "He changed in the war. Everyone did, but I mean he used to be polar opposite of what you see today. That's beside the point though. He's CMO anymore, so he's the one I'll have to talk to about anything medical."

Before anyone could ask anymore questions, there was a loud thud and clang followed by and exclamation of "Ow!" and the clatter of someone trying to get up.

Echoclick tilted his head to look at the door, one optic ridge raised.

"You okay out there, 'Liner?"

There was a pause followed by a muffled, "Yeah, 'm fine!"

The reddish mech rolled his optics, "Are you…coming in?"

"Gimme a minute!" There was a shuffling sound and finally the door slid open to reveal a slightly dented and scuffed Topliner grinning sheepishly at them, "Sorry, had to untangle my limbs."

Echoclick snorted, "What did you trip on? There's nothing outside that door except dust."

Topliner twisted his mouthplates a bit and shifted to one leg, "Really big dust. Evil dust. Tried to kill me."

Ironhide exchanged a look with Ratchet. _This_ was the creation of the great Optimus Prime and Elita One?

The mech apparently sensed their incredulous thoughts and turned his attention onto them, "Don't judge me. Anyways, your stuck with me for the next…oh, three breems? Eh, however long it takes to get to what's left of the crew's quarters."

Echoclick chuckled, "Primus, she works fast doesn't she? Well, looks like this is goodbye for the orn, eh? Do you need me to call someone to help with Prowl?"

Ratchet looked down at the offline tactician, "No, we'll manage."

He ran some quick scans to make sure Prowl wouldn't wake up when he was moved, then waved Ironhide over to help him lift the other mech, carefully adjusting his doorwings to stay out of the way. As he worked he listened to the light banter going on behind him.

Topliner leaned forward to see what was going on, "What did you do to him? Bore him to death with your chatter, 'Click?"

"No, I think it was a delayed reaction to your stupidity."

The younger mech scoffed, "I am not _stupid_! I'm inept. There's a difference. And your leg looks like slag, by the way."

Echoclick rumbled slightly, whether in suppressed laughter or warning was unclear, "That's what bombs do, slaghead."

"Yes, but you were playing with some wires or something, so they're hanging out funny. It's gross."

The disabled mech snorted and rolled his optics, but grinned at the lanky mech, "Get out of here, ya fraggin' klutz. I don't need you tripping and crushing my equipment again."

Topliner just smirked and waved a hand at him almost dismissively, optics wandering back to his charges, "You guys coming? I swear it's not a long walk. Want help with him?"

He waved a hand at Prowl as Ratchet and Ironhide leaned over to lift him with his arms over their shoulders. Ratchet shook his head and waved for the young mech to continue on ahead of them. Chromia tugged on a rather depressed looking Bluestreak's arm to get the young gunner moving. They trudged along down the halls, Topliner at the head and with a slightly off-kilter gait. As far as Ratchet could tell, the young mech had some kind of equilibrium problem, something that would be very difficult to repair, especially with the amount of supplies these bots apparently had. After walking for a ways, someone slid silently out of a dark, gaping hole in the wall, presumably where a door had once been. The grayish and brown mech fell into step next to Topliner for a moment, apparently engaging some silent conversation, before dropping behind to the back of their little group next to Bluestreak and Chromia.

"Good evening," the mech thrummed quietly and Chromia recognized him as one of the "officers" from before.

She snorted in response while Bluestreak remained quiet, "Whatever you say."

He hm'ed softly, "Of course, it's been a rough orn for all of us, hasn't it? You all the most I suppose. I'm Clippershot, since you all were rushed through introductions rather quickly earlier."

The femme nodded in acknowledgement, "And I assume you already know who we all are."

He smiled dryly, "We were acquainted. I was told to ask if anyone had any medical complaints," he gave them an inquiring look.

With a small frown, Chromia shook her head, "No, I don't."

Bluestreak just shrugged sullenly, and Clippershot shot him a sympathetic look.

Chromia, however, was feeling a powerful sense of curiosity and finally gave in to the temptation, "If you don't mind my asking…who was your creator?"

Clippershot nodded as though he had expected the question, "Hound. He taught me everything I know. I don't believe you met my femme creator yet. And yes," he added in a remarkably light tone, "He was deactivated several vorns ago."

Bluestreak winced slightly at the simply stated fact and the mech's distant manner. He seemed more mature than some of the others, yet he appeared to be younger than Bluestreak himself. Which lead to another question….

"Wh-what is your position?" he asked awkwardly, "I mean, like, what is your job, because I know they said you were one of the officers, but I'm not sure…" he broke off and looked nervously at the mech.

"Special Ops Head. Not that we use that department much anymore, it's mostly a sentimental thing," Clippershot drawled dryly.

The gunner's faceplates twisted slightly, "Wait so that means that Jazz is…."

Clippershot tilted his helm briefly in confusion before realization dawned, "Oh, you mean the previous Special Ops Head? Ah…I never knew him. He was deactivated in the initial attack on Iacon before my creators even met."

Both the older 'Bots tensed at that. It didn't seem possible for the ever lucky and outgoing _Jazz_ of all mechs to have been killed so long ago these nearly full grown 'bots didn't even know who he was. A universe without Jazz was…depressing.

Ahead of them Topliner was talking casually with Ironhide and Ratchet, his easy manner a contrast to the dark mood that hung over them. He moved unsteadily, yet confidently, quite a feat, and seemed concerned yet aloof towards the others. With a slight shock, it occurred to Chromia he must be hurting. _All_ of them must be.

From what they had been told, these youthful, seemingly inexperienced bots had seen nothing but death since the time of their sparkinghood. They had watched their lives be stripped away and had finally begun to heal some of the scars, when _they_ had shown up and ripped it open again. Even though she knew it wasn't their fault, she couldn't help the feeling of guilt that brought and she tugged at her bond with Ironhide miserably, to which he responded with a loving wave of warmth and understanding.

Clippershot rumbled next to her in slight annoyance at something Topliner had said, "He's really not as foolish as he acts, and somewhere in there he actually does respect his elders," he looked at them out of the corner of his optics, "If there's one thing Topliner is good at, it's acting."

Chromia managed a slight bark of laughter, "And you're sure this is Elita's creation?"

He grinned, "No, I'm not. I've never been convinced."

"To be honest, you're not a whole lot like Hound either, from what I know of him," she added, a bit cautiously.

Clippershot nodded, "So you've told me before."

As soon as that sunk in she jerked, vocalizer going silent. He looked at her with a neutral expression then turned back to stare ahead. The awkward silence was ended when with a flourish Topliner "presented" them with their room. He grinned like it was the best suite in the Towers on Cybertron, even though the door stuck and groaned, the walls were blackened and dented, most of the lights didn't turn on, and is was obvious no one had lived there in a long, long time.

"We're sorry it's not much, but it's the best we could do," Clippershot murmured.

Topliner laughed slightly, "Aw, it's not so bad. I mean, c'mon, Watcher-" He stopped when Clippershot's engine growled warningly, "Hey, Prowl's offline, it's not like he can hear us! ...Fine, never mind."

Clippershot resolutely ignored the curious looks the others were giving him and Topliner glowered sulkily at him. With a wave of his arm Clippershot invited them to go inside the dim room. Just as Ratchet and Ironhide had set down Prowl on what remained of the berth, however, a muffled thud rumbled from somewhere beyond one of the side walls.

"Huh, so he _is_ alive…," Topliner thoughtfully muttered.

Ratchet frowned, looking first at the wall, then back at their guides, "I thought no one lived in the ship anymore."

Topliner tilted his head back and forth in indecision, "Well, really the only way we know he's alive is when he talks over the alarm system or shoots the wall like that. Or when his daughter tells us, but it's nice to have some good evidence for yourself, you know?"

Bluestreak reset his optics, "Shoots….the wall?"

"Yeah," the young mech drew out the word slowly, "He, uh, he has a few loose bolts. I guess Shatterflash says he sees things or something, maybe his own shadow, I dunno."

Clippershot rolled his optics, "Have some respect, Topliner, the mech has been serving since their time," he pointed out.

Four helms jerked in their direction, and Ratchet voiced the thought in all their processors, "Who?"

Clippershot looked about ready to say he couldn't tell, but Topliner beat him to the punch, "His name's Red Alert. Our security director, technically, but Shatterflash is really the one we go to, since….no one has even seen him besides her in…how long?"

He turned to Clippershot, who was currently holding his helm in his hands. The Special Ops mech slowly lifted his faceplates, scraping his servos against them slightly and glaring at Topliner.

"Four vorns. And you and I are having a talk later," he rumbled, then returned his attention to the four alarmed looking 'bots, "I think that's enough chatter for one orn, I hope you all rest well."

With that parting statement he grabbed Topliner's shoulder, despite it being a good pede length above his helm, and dragged the other young mech off, leaving Ironhide, Chromia, Bluestreak, and Ratchet alone with an offline Prowl and more questions than they knew what to do with.

* * *

_Lizard: Okay, review time! Who was Echoclick's father? Answer: Blaster! Congrats to both **Faecat **and **Kaede Akira** for gettin' it right!_

_Shatterflash: I was a little vague saying this in the chap, but it's Red Alert. Yep, our favorite glitchy security director has a daughter!_

_Clippershot: Hound. Which, Miss **Faecat**, I think is pretty close to Mirage, so...yeah._

_Topliner: Heheh...Admit it, Optimus Prime and Elita One having a failure for a child is awesome._

_If anyone was confused by Topliner's mention of someone named "Watcher" that's their last officer who was left out of the meeting because, yes, he is Prowl's creation. And yes, Topliner has a big mouth XD._

_If Ebonyshield seems like a Mary Sue and thus you don't like her, well...I don't either, so...whatever. She just felt necessary, but she isn't a huge part of the story, so no worries._

_And now...leave questions comments and anything else in a review and we'll all be dandy! ;)_

_LIZARD OUT_


	5. Chapter 4

_Lizard: Here we are...sorry for the delay. I've been brutally attacked by plot bunnies and not all of them are related to this story -_-_

_This chapter is kind of short, but it's a necessary bit. It goes over to the future 'bots POV for a klik, and is sort of a transition point._

_By the way, for me Cybertronian ages go as follows: Sparkling (infant)--Youngling (child)--Fledgling (teen/young adult)--Full-grown (Fully mature)_

_So when I refer to the future 'bots as fledglings I'm not saying it's a ship full of teenagers, because that would be a disaster. They're young adults, and some teen-equivalents. Just clarifying._

_Disclaimer: Do I really have to do this every time? I don't own Transformers! Quit rubbing it in my faceplates! *sobs*_

* * *

"You are an idiot."

"Yeah, you all tell me that a lot," Topliner shot back, looking around at their surroundings like an easily distracted sparkling, not at all offended.

Clippershot snorted but dropped the conversation. They were currently arriving at their destination anyways, and a familiar black and white mech greeted them as they emerged from the ruined ship.

"Everything in order?" he thrummed, still sounding a bit ticked at not being allowed to know anything of their new guests.

Topliner, of course, was first to open his mouthplates, "Yep, all nice and snug in their berths," he chirped much too happily.

Watcher looked unamused, his face guard firmly in place, "Wonderful. Proceed to the clearing for a briefing with _all_ the officers."

"This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

Watcher vented heavily and rolled his optics, "Only a little."

"Sorry."

The black and white mech rumbled, and waved for them to follow as he started off in the direction of their "conference room." His doorwings, decorated by old, faded decals from a planet they had never even known, were held erect and still, but Watcher had never been one to carry a grudge and the annoyance would pass soon. Passing through one of this planet's overgrown forests they avoided various obstacles with practiced ease, though Topliner tripped more than once on thin air, but for him that was pretty good.

"Ah, mechs, there you are," the Commander's voice greeted them as they emerged into a small clearing only a few kliks away from where the rest of their 'bots were preparing for the off cycle.

Ebonyshield, Shatterflash, First Aid, and the mighty Avalanche all stood around him at attention or variations of it, and all shifted their interest to the newcomers easily. Of course, Sideswipe stood in the shadows behind Ebonyshield, but no one reacted to his prescense, just like he didn't respond to theirs.

"Yes sir," Watcher said sharply, falling into position at Ebonyshield's right hand.

Avalanche chuckled softly, "Still sore, Watch? Guess we're just not special enough for them anymore, huh?"

Watcher gave the bulky mech a withering look but otherwise ignored the comment and retracted his faceguard. Avalanche shrugged his mismatched shoulder plates, one too small and a light blue color that didn't quite match the rest of his grey, white, and blue armoring. An old canon spun subconsciously on his arm, but no one commented on the action one would normally associate with being threatening.

The Commander rolled his optics, "We've explained the situation to both of you as best as we can for the moment. Now please be patient," he beseeched wearily.

Topliner gave Watcher a nudge as he walked past and grinned. Watcher at first vented, but his irritation was already fading at the others. Ebonyshield shook her helm at the distractions and stepped forward into their small circle, Sideswipe moving forward minutely as well.

"I am aware that these new developments have caused some disruption in our planning, but we can't let one small inconvenience completely take over our processors. We have enough to worry about, and it's these other worries that we are here to talk about," she reminded firmly.

The mood in the clearing instantly shifted to a sober, quiet atmosphere. Even Topliner stopped his grinning and teasing, settling to look up at their leaders in a subdued manner, while Avalanche shifted uncomfortably.

Ebonyshield continued, "Catalytic and Shiver have confirmed that they are able to continue their work with the transistor at the same time as figure out a way to solve this delay with some help from Monochrome, and if they ask any of us for assistance, we are to do as they say, within reason of course," she added at the concerned looks she was given, "But that leaves the rest to us. I need to know for certain that everyone here really _wants_ to be here, and if they don't we have to give them a chance to leave. Clippershot, Shatterflash, do we have any idea how much time we have?"

Clippershot tilted his helm in indecision, "Not for certain. Sources are saying the 'Cons will arrive in less than three orns, but there isn't a single concrete answer for me to give you."

"Despite my father's protests I can assure you they are unaware of our planning, and we will not be impeded. Everything is going smoothly," Shatterflash added in her light accent.

"Good. I will speak to the army next cycle, and I want Watcher, Clippershot, and Topliner with me. Shatterflash I need you to keep an optic on things on board the ship, you'll report directly to Commander, and Avalanche I want to keep things in order, I don't need any more brawls," Ebonyshield gave out the orders quickly.

She did not mention her uncle, and no one expected her to, Sideswipe would follow regardless. The other officers nodded in understanding and acceptance. The only thing remaining was for the Commander's blessing to be given.

Ebonyshield turned to her own boss, "Permission to proceed in this way, sir?"

Commander Bluestreak quickly went over her plan of action and nodded once, "Granted, keep your optics online and your audios up, kids. If anyone seems even slightly unsure, tell them to leave, we don't want to force anyone to do something drastic."

His officers all nodded in agreement and he looked over them fondly, remembering when he used to watch their parents hold these meetings with a sort of awe. As the young mechs and femmes started back towards the ship he lifted his optics to the sky above them. _I'm doing the best I can, guys_, he thought weakly, visualizing his old comrades, _May your sparks rest in the Matrix_.

"Ugh, this whole thing is giving me a processor ache," Chromia growled, rubbing the sides of her helm as though that would help, "It doesn't make any sense."

She slumped backwards against the wall, sliding down to sit on the dirty old floor. Ironhide huffed slightly and sank down next to her with a groan of old hydraulics and pulled her up against his side. He dropped his helm back against the wall, optics offline. Ratchet finished the last of his scans on Prowl to ensure that no permanent damage had been done to the tactician's battle computer and turned away from the berth to observe the room. Bluestreak sat in uncharacteristic silence in the corner, carefully examining his hands. The CMO thrummed to himself thoughtfully and went to crouch by the young gunner.

"What's wrong, kid?"

Bluestreak didn't look up, and was silent so long at first Ratchet thought he wouldn't speak, but finally a small, quiet voice answered him, "If this is our future, why should we even try to go back? You're all dead, and I'm leading a bunch of fledglings in a war they can't win. Why are they even still trying, why is it like this?"

He looked up at Ratchet with such a broken look in his optics, such hopeless sorrow that the old medic felt like his spark was being stabbed through with an energy blade. What could he say to soothe the naïve young mech? _Was_ there anything to say?

"I don't know, Blue, but if this is our future with the way things are going, then we had better fix it," the medic rumbled, with more intensity than he had meant to use, but Bluestreak's optics flashed minutely brighter.

"Y-you think we can change it?" he asked, not quite hopeful, but not quite broken either.

Ratchet paused and flashed a look over at Ironhide, who was also watching him curiously, Chromia offline against his chest. The medic wasn't sure if they could change it or not, but in that brief instant of hesitation the image of Sideswipe, dead of all emotion, then of Echoclick, barely out of younglinghood and already damaged beyond possible repair, and accepting it. No, he wouldn't let that happen.

"Yes, Bluestreak. I believe we can."

* * *

_Lizard: There you have it. And...yeah, they pretty much keep Topliner there for sentimental reasons. XD, okay, so maybe he has some merit..._

_You were introduced to one new 'bot this chap, well two if you count Watcher, but he's been mentioned before. So now everyone....It's time for the game again! Hopefully this will be fairly easy._

_Avalanche._

_That's it. Who's his mom/dad/both? If you guess, you get Cyber cookies from space again!_

_See ya'll next time!_

_LIZARD OUT_


	6. Chapter 5

_Lizard: I have returned! And...what was I going to say? .......oh yeah!_

_There will be some very slight OOCness in this chap, but considering the circumstances I'm hoping it's understandable._

_Disclaimer: No, I have not gained ownership of Transformers since the last time I posted._

* * *

_'If anyone thinks recharging in a different place is difficult, they should try it in a different _time_,' _Ratchet thought bitterly, shoving himself to his feet. His joints and hydraulics groaned and hissed at the motion after spending the off cycle on the ground and he winced. A quick glance around the room confirmed all his companions were still deep in recharge, Ironhide and Chromia pressed close against each other, Prowl still spread out where he had been laid on the berth, and Bluestreak curled into as tight a ball as he could manage. The poor youngling was taking this harder than any of them. He vented and sat in the room's only chair to wait.

He didn't have to wait long.

Prowl moaned softly and shifted. After a moment his optics flickered sluggishly back online, confusion written clearly on his faceplates.

"Welcome back to the land of the online, oh great and mighty tactician," Ratchet drawled.

Prowl jerked in surprise and looked over at the medic with a bewildered expression.

"Wh-what in Primus name…?"

"Future? Remember, yesterday…you fritzed enough times to nearly damage yourself…?" Ratchet urged.

The tactician frowned, slowly sitting up, when remembrance dawned on his faceplates. A slightly horrified expression came next, and Ratchet felt his spark lurch in sympathy. He himself had given up on being concerned about the whole ordeal as that was obviously not helping, but Prowl hadn't had the privilege of being online long enough to reach that stage.

"We're stuck here?"

Ratchet nodded, "For now. Their 'best minds' are working on a solution right now."

"Who?"

"Remember those two fledglings we met when we first arrived," Prowl nodded slowly, "Yeah, those two."

The tactician's optics flickered and reset, "Oh Primus…."

"Mm-hm. This place is a mess: they're lacking in resources, mechpower, security and just about everything else that could be construed as important," he vented and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his faceplates, "Primus spare us if we ever force younglings to lead an entire faction without so much as a proper home."

"I think we already _have_," Chromia's slightly drowsy voice muttered from Ironhide's chest.

Ratchet growled slightly, "Well then we won't make the same mistake."

The femme finally sat up, rolling her shoulder joints stiffly, "How are you so sure we can change it?"

He started to snap something irritable, but paused and finally spoke in a quiet, yet fierce tone.

"I'm not, but we have to try."

She shook her head faintly but dropped the subject in favor of waking up her mate.

* * *

"Welcome back to my empire!" Echoclick greeted the five mechs and femme as they were lead through the door into his deck.

Shatterflash nodded a greeting at him and assured their "guests" one last time that she would contact them as soon as Catalytic and Shiver had any change, before taking her leave. They watched her go quietly.

"I trust you all recharged well?" their host thrummed politely, though his back was to them as he tinkered with a console on the far wall.

"Very well," Ratchet lied, leading the way further into the room, "And you?"

"Eh, I don't really recharge, just standby in my chair," Echoclick shrugged, turning around to face them, "Why do you guys always stand around so awkwardly? C'mon, sit down somewhere…by the window maybe. You could 'bot watch!"

He, grinning as usual, limped over to his chair and dropped into it heavily. With the arm not currently holding his cane he waved over at the large bay windows in invitation and it was admittedly quite tempting, but only Bluestreak and Chromia broke away from the others and almost nervously walked up to the windows. Chromia perched on an old, broken down console, and Bluestreak just leaned up to the window. The three remaining mechs stayed standing.

Beneath them, in a huge, unnatural clearing that appeared to have been formed by a crash landing of the _Ark _various mechs and femmes hurried about their daily tasks. In the sky, two forms swooped through the organic planet's atmosphere, one with unmistakable wings, and the other with some kind of spinning contraption that appeared to keep it air born. They seemed to be coming in from some kind of patrol and were making lazy loops and dives.

"What're those?" Bluestreak asked, pointing at the unusual flyers.

Echoclick craned his neck to see what the gunner was indicating, "Ah…oh, Bowshaft and Windstorm. Bowshaft's the jet, mech, and the helicopter is Windstorm, a femme. They're a couple of reckless show-offs, don't pay any attention to them."

As he spoke, the "helicopter" as it was apparently called, went into a wild, chaotic dance, seemingly out of control as it spun through the air. Bluestreak jerked in alarm.

"Is she supposed to do that?"

Echoclick was completely unfazed, "No, but she does it anyways. I told you, they're show-offs."

Chromia's optics had drifted back down to the ground pounders, "And I assume that one is as well?"

Echoclick tried to see over a console but from his sitting position that was impossible, so he heaved himself upright and limped over to lean on a machine nearby. It took him a moment to locate the object of her interest, and when he did he wished with his entire spark she hadn't seen him. The femme sensed his discomfort and looked at him curiously. He released a burst of static from his vocalizer before speaking.

"Yeah, he is a bit. I guess…he…he get's it from his parents."

All of them had their attention drawn to his soft, pained tone and Ratchet once again played the spokesmech of the group.

"Do you know him well?"

Echoclick nodded slowly, "We're friends, all of us are of course. It's just…"

At that moment the target of their conversation, who had been laughing and fooling around with what looked like Clippershot, spun out two cannons and fired a few playful rounds into the sky. Chromia froze and Echoclick stopped talking.

Finally after a long moment the femme finished his sentence, "He's ours."

The communications expert watched at her sadly, "His name is Avalanche. He's our…weapons specialist."

She didn't respond, just stared down, mouthplates slightly open at the sight of this stranger who was _hers_. He was a large fledgling, with a light color scheme, besides the two red cannons he was now drawing back into his arm. The blue shoulder armor was hers, she recognized it even from this distance, but when he turned around she spotted another out of place piece. A single black shoulder plate on his back.

"Whose armor is that?" she asked distantly.

Echoclick shifted, "I don't know if…"

Abruptly her optics were fixed on him, burning with barely contained fury, "_Tell me._"

He hesitated a moment longer before relenting. In a voice almost too quiet to hear he responded, looking intently at the floor panels.

"Avalanche's older brother. His name was Steelback. Before you…went, he was…," he grimaced at the memory of what was doubtless a black time, "He was killed in battle protecting a neutral femme. One shot through the spark, an instant deactivation. Avalanche was the first one to start our tradition with the armor."

But Chromia had stopped listening at the words "_killed in battle."_ Her entire body shuddered and a faint keening noise sounded from her vocalizer, a small, weak moan. She had no idea who Steelback was, what kind of mech he had been, when he was created, what he had treated them like, she didn't know her _son_. And her son had _died_ because they were loosing a war that they had all messed up and now their children were paying the price for. She at first barely processed Ironhide's arms around her, and when she did it completely broke her barriers and she turned into him with a choked sob. She hadn't even known him, and he was deactivated.

Echoclick watched, feeling physically ill. Steelback's deactivation was the first of many that came over far too short a period, and worse, Echoclick had been _right there_. It was the first deactivation he had witnessed up close, and it was his best friend's. And now here he was, telling the tank's parents their son was gone all over again. Everyone in the room looked stunned, though whether it was at the news or at the sight of the normally indestructible Chromia's sudden vulnerable state, he wasn't sure. After some time her sobs formed into words, words he was oddly surprised to hear.

"We have to do something."

Echoclick froze, optics wide. They wanted to fix everything, which meant changing the past, which meant…was that even possible? The communications specialist felt for the first time in far too long a flicker of hope that maybe, _maybe_ things could be right. They could survive. With sudden purpose he whipped around and limped rapidly out of the room.

"I'll be back in a few! I've got someone I need to talk to face-to-face…."

* * *

"I don't know if that's-"

"Why not? Our experiences are decided by past choices, right? So if they make different choices in the past, doesn't that mean our experiences would be different too?" Echoclick was excited now, desperately latching on to even the faintest chance.

Shiver considered this, "Well yes, but I was going to say I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Why?"

She vented and rolled her optics, "Echoclick, you do realize even the smallest change in events could alter the timeline so irreparably we might not even _exist?_ You all are so determined to make a difference you're forgetting the consequences that kind of difference would have! We already may have caused Primus knows what kind of messes just by _interacting with them._"

The mech threw his hands up, "Shiv, maybe _you're_ the one who needs to rethink the way you look at the universe. At least we have the ability to _pretend _that we might have a fighting chance."

Shiver glowered, "But that's just it, you're _pretending_. I'm a scientist, I don't _pretend_ anything. The fact is we're loosing, and there's nothing we can do about it."

He shook his helm, "I'm not saying _we_ can do anything about it, but they _can_! And they will, too! Primus, Shiv, if I cease to exist but all those other innocent lives get to go on, I don't have a problem with that, partly because I won't have a problem with _anything_ seeing as I won't _exist_. No one will miss us because we will never have _been_ at all!"

She stared at him a long moment, "I will never understand you."

"But I'm right, aren't I?"

The femme twisted her mouthplates, "Theoretically it could work, but no promises, and even if it does, _we_ won't know the difference."

He nodded, "Then we go on with what we're doing, but just think, the Autobots might have a chance!"

Shiver vented and nodded reluctantly, watching him go with sad, tired blue optics. Once he was out of the room she shook her helm and returned to her feverish work.

"You say no one will miss us, what about _them_?"

* * *

_Lizard: Poor Shiver is a fatalist XD_

_Two new 'bots (who you probably won't hear about ever again!)! They are:_

_Bowshaft_

_Windstorm_

_Hopefully not too hard, but I will tell you this, Bowshaft isn't much like his dad. He's a little...nuttier. And more stupid. But we won't get into that ;)_

_Ah! And thank you to my sister who just reminded me to tell you all that there is a poll on our page asking about...well these guys. I'd like my readers' input and complete honesty on this one. Thank ya'll!_

_LIZARD OUT_


	7. Chapter 6

_Lizard: Wow, I didn't realize how close I was getting to the end of this....:'( How sad._

_Things are finally picking up a bit here, and I'll be ending this soon, sad as that is. According to my poll, five out of six voters would like to see more of these characters in a "happier" world. I encourage anyone who hasn't to take the poll so I know whether or not any little snippets of these guys would be well received._

_I apologize for the confusing time-travel ins and outs that Echoclick tries to explain, but really sci-fi is so hard to understand I just am not sure it's even worth explaining when I myself am about to make my brain explode from trying to comprehend the absurdness -_-_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs and the plot line thing._

* * *

"I'm back," Echoclick called with forced cheer when he walked back into the communications deck.

Chromia and Ironhide were now leaning up against the console she had been sitting on, still held tightly against each other. Prowl looked remarkably uncomfortable, and Ratchet was holding his face in his hands. Only Bluestreak was looking out the window in a sort of uncontrollable curiosity. They all looked up at his arrival and he felt the weight of all five gazes as he struggled back to his chair, cooling systems on high.

Ratchet half rose from his own seat, "Echoclick? Are you alright?"

The young mech waved a hand as he sunk stiffly to a sitting position, grimacing slightly, "Yeah, just a long walk to the lab, ya know?"

The medic looked unconvinced but rested back, though his optics remained on the obviously pained communications mech. Chromia had looked back down at her hands, which she twisted in her lap uncomfortably. Ironhide thrummed soothingly and she leaned closer, but the silence in the room stretched on.

"Uh…I," Echoclick cut off uncomfortably, then started again, "I think…maybe you guys can fix this."

In a klik he was once again the complete center of attention, desperate optics pleading with him for something to cling to. He vented softly.

"I don't claim to be a scientist but…since it wasn't you who got yourselves sent here, then that means it didn't happen…the first time around. So the Commander never experienced time travel," he grinned faintly and nodded at Bluestreak, "By my logic that seems to imply that with this is your chance to…see what's going to happen if you do what they did the first time. I mean…this is really confusing."

He looked up helplessly at the others, but only Prowl seemed to be catching even a glimpse of what he was trying to say. He huffed and tried again.

"What I'm trying to say, and failing miserably at saying, is that I think you guys can change the course of time. You just…have to know where we went wrong, and maybe you can make some better decisions. I mean…I talked to Shiver and she said we might not exist-"

"Wait, what?" Bluestreak cut in with a look of shock.

Their host grimaced, "If just one choice that determined our existence is changed, we won't ever come into being. But that's okay!" he quickly added, "Cuz, I mean, we won't know since we never…were there…at all. Technically."

Bluestreak looked absolutely horrified, "B-but doesn't that bother you that you wouldn't even have a chance? I mean, sure, maybe we can change things and all but that doesn't help _you_ if you're not there! So why-"

Prowl was surprisingly the one who answered, "Because it would give everyone else a chance."

He was looking with something akin to appreciation at the young mech, who ducked his head and grinned up at them sheepishly. Before anyone could say anything more, though, there was a light knock at the door. Echoclick's faceplates flashed in surprise and he hesitantly asked who was there.

"Monochrome!" a chipper, albeit slightly muffled, voice responded happily, "I brought stuff for you!"

"Oh Primus," the young communications mech hissed and looked frantically at the others in the room, "Uh…oh frag, maybe he won't recognize you…could you do me a favor and turn around?"

He addressed Ratchet and was given a completely bewildered look. The young mech turned frantically back to the door as it started to groan open, then back at Ratchet, making wild hand signals at him. The CMO reset his optics but stood up and walked calmly over to stand next to Bluestreak, with his back to the rest of the room, looking for all the world like he was merely watching the world go by outside the window.

"Hey 'Chrome, buddy, you're, uh, you're not supposed to be here, kid," he heard Echoclick say somewhat weakly.

A young, completely carefree voice answered him, "I know, but First Aid wanted me to bring this to you because he was busy in his office. He said you told him your leg was bothering you," the little male voice abruptly turned much more concerned, "Are you okay?"

Echoclick seemed to struggle for words, and by now Ratchet's back was stiffened to the point of discomfort.

"I, uh, yeah, I'm fine. Just took a walk is all. Thanks 'Chrome," Echoclick offered in a strained tone, "I'll see ya later, kid."

"Okay! Are these our guests?"

A sharp cough of an engine, then a reply, "Yes, but they can't talk right now, so maybe later, huh?"

"Sure! See you guys…you know you all look kinda familiar…oh well, hope you all have a pleasant time!" the voice chirped almost joyously, then the sound of small pedes retreating from the room followed.

For a long moment everything was silent, until Echoclick broke said silence.

"Wow, you guys just aren't catching a break are you?"

Ratchet turned around slowly, pointing vaguely after where the youngling had run off to, "That was…my creation, wasn't it?"

Echoclick grinned, "Monochrome. He, ah, he always did…stress the small stuff," he lifted a hand to indicate a small injection device he had apparently been given, "Fraggin' First Aid sent him…he knows the kid's not supposed to come here right now…."

He vented and leaned back, covering his optics with a hand. Everyone looked hesitant to speak, but when curious Bluestreak wasn't known for self-control.

"Why would he send him then?"

Echoclick peeked out from underneath his fingers, "He's fragged up, excuse the language, but really, things in the war hit the medics the hardest and he…had a pretty big family too, but they've been gone for a while now. Ever since he's just become worse and worse, doesn't care about authority or life at all it seems like. If you're damaged, he'll fix you, but he just doesn't seem to care like he used to," he chuckled faintly, "I know it's hard to believe, but he used to be a lot like 'Chrome."

"Monochrome…what is he like?" Ratchet asked slowly.

"Happy. Chipper. Compassionate. Pit-fragging adorable," Echoclick actually laughed this time, "The eternal optimist, quite literally. He's only a youngling but he already just _cares_ about everything. It's almost disturbing how happy that kid can be."

Ratchet smiled dryly, "In other words, nothing at all like me?"

The younger mech cracked a genuine grin, "Nope, though really he's not like anyone."

"Hey, what's going on out there?" Bluestreak suddenly cut in, leaning up to the window curiously.

Echoclick stood and peered around the gunner, "Ah, Ebonyshield's about to talk," he leaned over and tapped a console.

Bluestreak jumped back as the windows all shifted and tilted inward slightly, opening them to the outside world. Immediately the sounds of the crowd below filtered up to them, a low, constant murmur of voices and shifting, metallic bodies. Just as Echoclick had said, the small black femme was climbing onto a raised platform at one end of the clearing, and five mechs followed close behind. One was the empty-opticed Sideswipe standing behind her, Topliner stood next to him, and on Ebonyshield's left hand was Clippershot. Commander Bluestreak stood calmly off to one side, looking over his troops like a father over his children. The fifth was not one they had met before, but no one needed Echoclick to tell them who he was. A powerful black and white Praxian frame, complete with erect doorwings decorated by old decals told exactly who his creator was. His helm was oddly built, with a faceguard that circled his faceplates and a long, thick bar running from the back of his helm over to taper off in front.

"Watcher, our tactician and Ebony's right hand guy," Echoclick explained, "Those are your decals from an organic planet you all went to."

Prowl nodded faintly, scrutinizing his own creation that he had never seen before. As though sensing the attention, Watcher's helm snapped up and two brightly glowing optics stared up at their windows. Prowl took an instinctive step back, but Echoclick shook his helm.

"He can't see us, probably wishes he could. Being out of the loop annoys him," he chuckled, "This has been driving him insane."

Ironhide, standing and pulling his mate with him, snorted, "Sounds about right."

He was given a Prowl-grade glare, which he smirked obnoxiously at. Their discussion was forestalled, however, when Ebonyshield's voice rose over the hum of regular activity.

"Mechs and Femmes of the Autobot Remnant Force, gather!" she called, and instantly every optic was fixed on her and the crowd shifted and morphed to form a half circle around her "stage."

She smiled down at them and waited for quiet to come again before continuing.

"I have called you all here to discuss with you our future. The Decepticons are approaching even as we speak, bringing with them nearly their entire fleet. They will not be chased away and fooled as they have been in the past, yet we are all that stands between them and our refugees fleeing under the lead of Commanders Springer and Arcee, therefore it falls to us to stop their pursuit. We must give them a chance to escape, to rebuild and perhaps one day defeat the Decepticon tyrants. You all know what it is I am asking you to do, and you all know I would never ask this if I had another option, but I do not. The last shuttle leaving to the fugitive colonies will leave in two joors, anyone who feels unable to stay is encouraged to go with it. There is no shame in leaving, just as there is no shame in feeling fear.

"I have lead you now for little over two vorns, and I pray that I have done an acceptable job. I am honored to have served with all of you, and now if this will be our last stand then I am also honored to now have the privilege of dying with all of you. I continue to hope that we will succeed in our battle, but I cannot say this for certain, so I will give you only the facts. We are outnumbered twenty to one at the least by mechs who are far more experienced and well-armed than we are. They have seven fully functional war cruisers on their side, while we have only the hull of the Ark left. Their weapons, armor, and systems are far more advanced and powerful than our own. Statistically Watcher has informed me our chances are next to none," here she glanced over at the stiff young mech who nodded faintly in confirmation.

"This is why I am offering you all the chance to leave if you so choose. No one will think less of you for it, no one will be upset or hurt. It is your choice, and your right. Our creators once declared that freedom is the right of all sentient beings, and it is your freedom to leave. I and my fellow officers will remain regardless, and we welcome any who will stay with us. This is our time, and I call on all of you, whether you stay or go, to remember your creators, your families and friends who have been destroyed by this war and fight however you will for them. Together we will fight, and if we're going down, then by Primus we're going down together! Now who will stand by me?" the crowd erupted in shouts and war cries as Ebonyshield held up her arms.

Clippershot and Watcher exchanged a look, and even Sideswipe's helm ducked briefly. Standing away from his officers, Commander Bluestreak swelled in pride and from their high vantage point those on the communications deck could see the gleam of optical fluid on his faceplates.

Topliner stepped forward and for the first time the spark of his father seemed to shine through as he thundered above the crowd: "Till all are one!"

The army echoed his cry in a mighty roar, and up on the communications deck Ratchet shook his helm slowly in amazement at their passion.

"Till all are one…."

* * *

_Lizard: Hm...I've never written a dramatic-morale-raising speech before....huh, didn't do to terribly bad, I don't think._

_Soon you shall see their plan, possibly next chapter, but I'm not sure yet. Oh, and the characters mentioned last chapter, the flyers? Here's the answers!_

_Windstorm: Blades! The Protectobot bad boy!_

_Bowshaft: Silverbolt, our Aerialbot commander!_

_I love feedback of any kind, and want to improve so constructive criticism is much appreciated! ;)_

_LIZARD OUT_


	8. Chapter 7

_Lizard: Happy Mother's Day! Don't forget to tell your Mamas that you love 'em. And to any mother's reading this: You're awesome! I have the utmost respect and appreciation for all of you! Ahem, now back to the story...(which is really why we're all here)_

_So...my computer ate this chapter. And my inspiriation with it. But I have prevailed! And rewrote the whole stinking thing!_

_Anyways, here we are, probably two chapters after this. And then..._

_It's over._

_DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN!_

_This chapter contains drama and...Topliner! Yes, the failure of a Prime's son is back. And... I don't have much else to say so...onward, ho!_

_Disclaimer: I only own my OCs and the general plot thingy. (e-GAD! There's a plot?!)_

* * *

Ratchet, Prowl, Ironhide, Chromia, and Bluestreak entered the communications deck the next orn after an uneventful off-cycle to see that, for the first time, Echoclick appeared honestly busy.

He flitted around as best he could, tapping keys, flipping switches, occasionally hitting a console with a growl of frustration. His optics flickered apparently with a constant feed of databursts and comm. links. They hesitated and Shatterflash, their guide stepped forward to catch his attention.

"Echoclick?" she called.

The mech jumped and nearly fell, but managed to reel around and face them. The stress became clear now that they could really see his expression, though he tried to cover it up quickly. He smiled slightly, putting a hand at the side of his helm to indicate a silent conversation for a moment, before his optics returned to their regular, steady glow.

"Sorry, didn't hear you come in, thank you Shatter," he greeted warmly, nodding at the femme to let her know he had everything under control.

She nodded a bit uncertainly but bid her leave and hurried away, seeming to have her own work that needed doing.

"I've got some stuff going on, you can-"

Echoclick cut off and gave them an apologetic grin as his optics once again started flickering brightly and he spun back around to toy with a console. The others exchanged nervous glances; tension was high on board the ship. Even Topliner, who had passed them briefly in the hallways, seemed more uptight than usual. Something was going on, and it was big. Bluestreak wandered over to one of the windows and looked outside to see…nothing. The clearing below was empty. No 'bots milling about, no patrols checking in, no officers giving orders. It was just…blank.

"Where is everyone?" he blurted, then clamped his mouthplates shut and gave the preoccupied mech an apologetic look.

Echoclick chuckled faintly and held up a hand, indicating he would answer in a moment. He nodded briefly, apparently at something said over his comm. link and shut it off.

"Sorry. Uh…everyone's getting ready," he answered vaguely, still toying with some controls.

"For what?"

The young mech looked up at Bluestreak's innocent, yet haunted optics and cringed. This just wasn't right.

"For…." He groaned and grabbed a chair, sinking into it, "The Decepticon fleet is coming. We didn't expect them quite so soon, you were all supposed to be gone, but…you'll get home, I know, and when you do, you can fix all this."

He looked up at them with an almost desperate hope in his optics, like that of someone who knew it was over but who was in denial of their fate. There was a moment in which they all once again looked at each other, then directed their attention to Prowl, passing leadership to him.

The tactician dimmed his optics briefly and when they brightened it was with the sharp, planning light he was known for, "What do we need to know?"

Echoclick looked relieved and dove headlong into a rapid history, "The Decepticon's gained the upper hand in the war with their first full-blown attack, which happened exactly four deca-orns after the Day of Primus during your time. In that attack the head of Special Operations, Jazz, was deactivated, as were the Autobots Inferno, Cliffjumper, and Smokescreen. Optimus Prime himself was irreparably damaged forcing him to spend the rest of his life-cycle confined to office work and his injury eventually caused his deactivation," he ran a hand over his faceplates, pausing to gather his thoughts, "The Decepticons attacked Iacon, disabling the entire Autobot force. If you could just make sure that didn't happen, you might have a chance. Just...don't let them win."

They all exchanged another glance, recognizing his piteous grab at hope for his race.

Ironhide spoke up, "Which o' these Decepticons do we need ta look out fer?"

Echoclick shifted and twisted his faceplates in thought, "Megatron, obviously, his second in command and the leader of their elite trine, Starscream, isn't one to be trifled with, and neither are his wingmates. Soundwave can read minds and has so many cassettes it can't be healthy, and Shockwave is just crazy. There's the Constructicons, don't get too close to them, the triple changers, of course, and…"

Ironhide rolled his optics, "How 'bout, is there anyone we _don't _need ta worry 'bout?"

Echoclick actually had to think about that, "Well…not really. They're all battle grade, and most have some kind of mental issue. So really…stay away from all of them as much as possible."

They all stared at him.

"Then…how are we supposed to win?" Bluestreak asked, looking thoroughly puzzled.

"Uh…Well, like I said, they're all bonkers, so maybe that'll help you. That and you have a better leadership system; theirs is…wrought with trouble. You'll figure that out quickly."

Prowl tilted his helm, "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

Echoclick rocked his head back and forth, "Eh, let's just say they make treachery an art form. Starscream is the master of it, but I think the Combaticons took some lessons."

"I see," Prowl hummed, looking thoughtful, "This still is sounding like a rather unpromising affair."

"I know but…you'll do it," Echoclick assured, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well, "You're…you're Prowl for Primus' sake, and Ratchet and Ironhide. You're the Prime's top mechs, _Optimus_ Prime's! And Bluestreak and Chromia, Pit _you_ are our Commander, and you're just…_Chromia!_" his desperation shifted to an almost childlike faith, "We grew up knowing that you…you guys were the top, the best of the best. If anyone can fix this…it's you guys."

The mechs and femme all exchanged several startled and uncomfortable looks. Echoclick ran a hand over his optics, apparently trying to clear his over-stressed CPU.

Ratchet broke the silence, "Kid, just because we were so important to you then doesn't mean we're invincible."

The moment it left his lip components, he and everyone else knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Echoclick froze, hand still covering his faceplates. The medic stiffened, realizing what he had just said, but it was too late.

"I know," the young mech murmured in a rough, static-laced voice, "I know you aren't…invincible, because I _watched you die."_

"I'm sorry, that was-wait, what did you just say?" Ratchet stuttered, staring blankly at their host.

Echoclick looked up slowly, "I. Watched. You. Die," he tilted his helm, expression blank, "You were treating my leg right after the bomb hit me. Two shots, one to the shoulder, one directly to the spark. You collapsed, and I couldn't do anything. I was there when Hound was killed, when my sister deactivated, when my own creators slipped offline in the medbay. And that's just the beginning. I know no one is invincible, I've seen it proven again and again, but that doesn't change what you can do."

The medic started to speak, but Echoclick stopped him.

"I know what you meant, and I'm not offended. Just remember that you don't have to be invincible to win a war."

* * *

"Well hey there folks!" Topliner's boisterous voice boomed into the communications deck.

Multiple pairs of optics swiveled to stare at him as he swaggered in, grinning widely. All his stress and tension was either gone or skillfully concealed and he smoothly hopped up on top of an old, broken console.

"'Liner, what are you doing here?" Echoclick asked tiredly.

The newcomer made a low whistling noise, "Shatter sent me. I'm your bodyguard for the orn, in case things, ya know, go to the Pit."

Ratchet choked, "_You're_ a bodyguard?"

Topliner glared sulkily at him, "Yes, I _am_ capable of fighting believe it or not!"

"By falling on your opponents," Echoclick snipped from his workstation.

Naturally this lead to even more good-natured banter around the room, Topliner's infectious personality easily lifting spirits, and the time passed quickly. Echoclick drifted in and out of their conversations, busily rapping away at monitors and the like most of the time. Everything seemed relatively peaceful though, and the stress they had all been feeling started to fade. That is, until Shatterflash's unmistakable voice crackled through the ship's general comm.

_'All personnel proceed to stations immediately. Repeat: All personnel to stations immediately.'_

Topliner looked up at the speaker on the wall, "That's okay, we're already there!"

Echoclick threw a piece of scrap metal at him distractedly, "Coming down to the wire, folks," he huffed.

Topliner glared but shrugged it off, "Cat and Shiv are almost done, they'll call soon."

"Soon enough, though?"

That wasn't answered, as at that moment the general comm. crackled again, this time with a sharp mech voice.

_'Decepticon alert! Decepticon Alert! All units to battle positions! Prepare for attack! Decepticon Alert!'_

"Wow, I forgot what his voice sounded like," Topliner murmured thoughtfully.

"Who?" several asked at the same time, except for Prowl and Ratchet, both of whom recognized the voice from recent meetings.

"Red Alert," Echoclick vented, turning around with a tired expression.

Bluestreak tilted his helm, listening to the alarm that was still echoing through the ship, "What's he talking about."

Topliner shifted uncomfortably and flashed a helpless look at Echoclick. The older mech gazed out the bay windows, narrowing his optics. After a moment he lifted a hand and pointed. Everyone shifted there attention to the indicated point, and after a moment they realized what they were looking at. A blur high in the planet's atmosphere. A ship.

Echoclick explained softly, "They're here."

* * *

_Lizard: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN! (again)_

_So, I'm sick as a dog and feeling lazy so this chapter is short. But the next one (I believe) will be long. So I'll make up for it then._

_Thank you all for reading and please leave a review if and when time permits!_

_LIZARD OUT_


	9. Chapter 8

_Lizard: Last chap before the epilogue folks. I'd like to say it took a really long time because I worked on it every day and it was just so long it took forever but...I really just threw it all together yesterday and this morning -_- Cuz I'm lazy._

_And so, on with the climax!_

_Disclaimer: Transformers and all related material does not belong to me. I am only using them for my own entertainment and claim no ownership nor am I making any profit from this venture. Apologies if this offends you._

* * *

They could see them now. The Decepticon war ships. Seven great hulking monsters that were slowly descending into the atmosphere, taunting those below.

Echoclick had told them this was essentially all that was left of the main Decepticon fleet. Most of the other ships had been destroyed or at least severely disabled. Of course, on the other side, the Autobots had only small transport carriers left, and absolutely nothing on this planet.

Topliner was no longer lounging calmly around the consoles and had taken to standing rigidly by the door. Though he still grinned smoothly at anyone he caught looking his way, his posture told another story. Echoclick had become completely absorbed in his work, moving faster than he frankly should have been capable of. Below the bay windows the clearing finally had some life in it once again. The heaviest built of the mechs and even a couple femmes were gradually reappearing, forming a mass around the ship's only entrance which was to be sealed from the inside. Among these outsiders were Avalanche and Clippershot, both of whom looked anxious to get started.

For what seemed like an eternity everything held, frozen in a limbo, the calm before the storm. And just as the tension reached a peak, enough you could almost touch it…it snapped.

After the painfully long wait, the actual beginning seemed almost offensively quick, 'Con's suddenly dropping from several shuttle's that swooped down at an unsafe speed and then twisted back upwards to retrieve the next load. Immediately, the tattered remains of the Autobot army launched forward to counter, Avalanche exuberantly at the front. Next to the five "visitors" Topliner visibly twitched.

"Pit," he muttered, "The slagger's gonna get all the fun."

Ratchet turned an incredulous look on the towering young mech, but opted not to point out how severely outnumbered their front-liners were, and that more Decepticons were already on their way.

The outcome of this doomed battle was blocked from view, however, when black covers dropped without warning from above, turning the row of windows opaque. Topliner turned his gaze to a look questioningly at a still distracted Echoclick.

"Protective. Blocks stray shots. Sorry," the disabled 'bot rattled off.

Topliner rumbled softly and gave the other five a shrug, "Guess we'll just have to wait it out then. At least until Shiv calls for you guys."

So they settled in to wait. At first they tried to make conversation, Bluestreak and Topliner leading that motion, but after a while that faded. Specifically when the sound of explosions against the _Ark's_ hull started to echo loudly through the corridors.

"What the Pit-?" Ratchet spit when the first thunderous boom broke the quiet.

Everyone in the room froze, several looking around wildly for the source. Echoclick held very still, optics flickering brilliantly and then fell back to his mad routine.

"Seekers. Firing missiles at the hull," he explained dully, "We're falling back."

Topliner had relaxed at the first comment, but at the second his back jerked ramrod straight, "How bad is it then?"

Echoclick grunted, possibly at something catching in his damaged leg, "Don't know, but it was Opalescent who reported."

The other mech deflated, looking a bit stunned. An awkward glance passed between the others, and Chromia took the initiative to ask what they all wanted to know.

"What does that mean?" she said slowly, cautiously.

Topliner flashed his gaze over to her, "By chain of command….It means Avalanche, Watcher, and Clippershot couldn't."

After that there was no more conversing.

As time passed the explosions became more frequent and louder, a few began to shake the entire ship. Occasionally the sound of someone running past in the halls leaked in. Unbeknownst to those tucked away in the Communications deck, the mechs and femmes fighting were no longer fighting to save their home, but to save their last hope. Ratchet, Prowl, Ironhide, Chromia, and Bluestreak. Those names had finally passed through the ranks and a silent understanding fell on every processor. They would all die, but these five had to live.

So when the call came for Topliner to guide them back to Shiver and Catalytic's lab, the halls were mostly clear in that section. Topliner, drawing a plasma rifle from subspace, poked his helm out into the corridor and slowly waved them all forward. His off-kilter movements were still there, but less pronounced as a focused calm settled over the mech.

"They're holding the 'Cons off near the front, but we don't have much time before they have to fall back and these halls become compromised," he explained, starting forward hesitantly, "Shiver wants me to ask you what you all were doing when the warp occurred."

"A meeting in the med bay, post battle reports," Prowl murmured, his weapon held ready.

Topliner nodded, relayed the information and paused, "She asked what battle."

The tactician thrummed thoughtfully as they came around another corner, "It was two and one half deca-orns after the Day of Primus, more of a slaughter than an attack."

"Yeah," the young mech nodded, "They do that a lot."

Moving quickly yet cautiously through the corridors was a stressful experience, and Topliner stopped them often as he listened to various reports and warnings. By the time they were almost halfway there they started having to detour in order to keep out of the way of the slowly withdrawing frontline. All but Ratchet had their weapons drawn and charged, optics gleaming almost white as battle programs kicked in.

"Pit, they're moving faster than I thought," Topliner muttered after yet another detour, "We're never gonna get there at this rate…."

He suddenly stopped, causing Bluestreak to run into his back with a yelp. The tall mech slowly turned around and tilted his helm, subconsciously dragging the Praxian back upright. At the questioning looks he was receiving he tapped his audios. They all followed that suggestion and listened closely, and within moments they heard it and their sparks sank. Running pedes, only a few halls back.

"They're right behind us," Topliner whispered, sounding distant and disbelieving, "Bowshaft was supposed to…."

He cut off there and shook himself, waving for them to continue, this time at a fair clip, almost running down the corridors. Reports poured in to the young mech and he switched to external communications so the others could hear when the report came that Echoclick was no longer running the comm. deck. Only a hallway later he skid to a stop and tilted his helm, listening. The pedes behind them were closer, too close. With a shuddering expulsion of air, the young mech turned to look at them intensely.

"You know where we are, right?" he asked, and Prowl and Ratchet nodded, "Good, lead the others the rest of the way."

Bluestreak jerked in surprise, "What? Where are you going?"

Topliner grinned faintly, "No where, I'm staying here," at the protests he could see forming on their lips he added, "I'm slowing you down, can barely run in a straight line. Besides, someone needs to hold off those 'Cons, right?"

Bluestreak started to argue, but Prowl placed a hand on the younger Praxian's shoulder, "Good luck, Topliner."

The mech nodded and waved them forward. Passing around another corner, Ratchet stole a glance backward and for the first time saw Optimus Prime in his son as the young mech stood, erect and proud, ready for what he knew was to come. With that last glimpse, they were thrown back into a desperate run for the lab. By the time they reached it, the sound of the Decepticons running behind them had returned.

They burst in and nearly ran over Catalytic, who looked about ready to leave. He stepped back in surprise, assessed the situation, and frowned.

"Topliner left?" he asked.

Prowl shook his helm, "He stopped to hold off Decepticons behind us, but they're back."

The young scientist nodded slightly, "Got it, we have mechs on the way to hold them off, and 'Chrome will be here to help out Shiv in a bit. I need to go help Shatterflash with communications."

The others winced, understanding what he was meant. He had to go replace Echoclick, and Monochrome had to replace _him_. If this was all going on with the "non-combatants" how were the front liners faring?

"Get going, Cat!" Shiver's voice shouted from somewhere in the bowels of their work place.

He muttered something unintelligible and stepped up to the door, tossing a final, "Bye Shiver, see ya!" over his shoulder plates. He left swiftly and the others backed away from the door, weapons still at the ready.

Shiver was frantically making adjustments on apparently two different machines at the same time. One she indicated was "theirs," the one that would bring them home, but the other was certainly more impressive. It was connected to multiple consoles, and it itself was composed of many parts, including a brightly shining containment chamber directly above a pipe extending down into a hole in the ship's deck, surrounded by thick glass. The swirling light in the containment chamber seemed to be growing brighter by the moment and a few alarms kept going off, but Shiver silenced them.

"Ratchet…what is that?" Bluestreak asked softly, looking at the massive device.

The medic shook his helm, "I don't know."

Whatever it was, it consumed Shiver's attention as soon as Monochrome bolted inside and took her place with the "time machine." The sounds of gunfire and metal bodies colliding had started to drift down the halls to the lab. From what Monochrome briefly told them, their numbers had dropped drastically, and the med bay was now compromised. The young mech paused in his work suddenly and pulled something out of subspace to hand off to them. Ironhide took it and examined the object, a portable communications device. With a shared glance of apprehension with the others, he turned it on.

_'Ebonyshield is no longer responding.'_

_'We're cornered here! I need some help!'_

_'Is anyone even out there anymore?'_

_'Primus, hang in there guys.'_

_'All who are able, pull back to the lab! I repeat, _pull back to the lab_!'_

The last comment was made in the Commander's powerful voice. None of the others were recognizable by the five standing around it. The message, however, was clear. They were loosing, badly.

_'Clippershot, pull back.'_

That was surprising. They had assumed the young Special Ops head was no longer capable of fighting, if he was online at all, but a sharp reply challenged that thought.

_'Yessir. Pulling back.'_

He sounded strained, but very much alive. The next voice was even more surprising, though.

_'I'll hold them off, move!'_

Sideswipe.

He sounded older, his voice rough and stressed, but still, it was definitely the red hellion they knew all too well. The Commander and Clippershot both snapped off some sort of affirmation, and silence settled over the once crowded channel, only broken occasionally. They didn't pay much attention until Shiver reported something through her internal comm. link that came to their audios through the portable communicator.

_'Subspace transistor almost at a maximum, I'm almost ready.'_

A frighteningly small number of confirmations met her report, but only four of the five were listening. Ratchet had shifted his gaze up to the massive machine and it's brightly shining chamber.

"Subspace…transistor?" he muttered.

Bluestreak looked up at him nervously, "What's that?"

The medic shook his helm, "I'm not a scientist, but…subspace is believed by some to contain immeasurable amounts of energy. To take directly from it…"

Another alarm shrieked across the room. To silence it, Shiver tugged a gun out of a compartment on her thigh and shot the agitated console. Not typical procedure, but apparently it worked because the alarm shut off. Ratchet glanced briefly at this scene, but was looking back at the transistor a klik later.

"That much power being pumped into a machine without anything holding it back is…," he broke off, trying to find the right words, "It's dangerous. And they're going to overload if I'm reading those screens correctly."

The others gave him concerned looks. While Ratchet was not a scientist, as a medic he worked closely with them, specifically with the notorious Wheeljack, and he had picked up enough knowledge to have their respect in such areas. He himself wasn't sure exactly what all this machinery was, or what its purpose could be.

"Monochrome, could you-"

"Already got it!" the young mech answered Shiver's request, whatever it was going to be, without missing a beat.

The transistor whirred louder, and they realized that its volume had actually been increasing with the light, a low, constant thrum that pulsated with the energy. In fact, it was growing so loud that the sounds of battle were almost drowned out. That is, until the door flew open again. For a brief klik the deafening thunder of chaos roared into the room, causing all inside to freeze in momentary panic, before the door was once again shut and locked. Leaning against it were three 'bots; the Commander, Clippershot, and a femme they didn't recognize.

All three looked very much like they had just come from the fight of their lives, and had a haunted gleam was in their optics, especially the two young ones. Cooling systems on high and pouring energon from multiple places, they were quite a sorry sight. It was now apparent why Clippershot was unable to contact the ship earlier, a section of his chassis armor was crumbled inward from what must have been a monstrous blow. A _very_ quick repair job had been done to at least allow him partial communications, but from the various fluids leaking from the injury it was obvious that was all that could be done.

"Get back," the Commander gasped out after a klik, waving them away from the door, "Opalescent, help Clippershot."

The pearly white femme nodded faintly and hurried over to the Special Ops Head's side, carefully supporting him as they both staggered away from the already trembling door. Clippershot winced but allowed her to move him, waving both Ratchet and Monochrome away when they expressed concern. The Commander pulled a torch out of subspace and set to work sealing the door shut.

Shiver paused in her work and stared out at them, an unusual expression on her face. She didn't look hurt, or angry, or even scared, just…sad. Simply sad.

_'This is it guys, I'll see ya later.'_

It was the last words to come over the portable communicator, spoken by none other than Catalytic.

Then there was nothing.

Because the only Autobots left were all together in one room.

And that was when it started. A soft, murmured voice rippling through the air, speaking words very few understood. Multiple sets of optics turned to Shiver as she continued talking, even as she returned to her work. Bluestreak leaned in towards Prowl.

"What's she saying?" he whispered, optics wide.

Prowl frowned, "It's an old Cybertronian dialect; I believe it translates to _'Great Primus my master, Giver of this spark in me, hear my voice as I cry.'_"

The others along with Clippershot and Opalescent looked up at him in surprise as he continued translating the words into Iacon Standard while Shiver murmured amongst her feverish work. Booms and crashes beat against the door and the transistor had hit a deafening wail, but somehow her voice still carried to their audios.

Ratchet frowned at the words, and Chromia tilted her helm curiously. Seated on the floor, Clippershot's optics started to fade slightly and he leaned his helm back against a console. Opalescent gripped his hand tightly, her pale blue optics fixed on Prowl's face. Monochrome was putting the final instructions into the machine he was working on. The Commander backed away from a shaking door, optics alert. Chromia turned her helm to look at Ironhide.

_"Here I stand in desperation, my last sparkbeat upon me, my thoughts grow dark."_

"Where have I heard this before?" she asked softly.

Ratchet was the one who answered, quietly so only the sparkmates could hear, "It's from an old legend, one of the warriors of old said it."

The transistor was shrieking, and alarms wailed all around, but no one tried to stop them. Clippershot's intakes were slowing and his grip on Opalescent's hand was wavering. With a barely audible whirr, Monochrome's machine jerked to life. He started to wave them over, and Chromia looked back at Ratchet again.

"When?"

Ratchet frowned, "I can't remember. It's a very old story though…."

_"Enemies close around me, I see them not. Time grows short for me, thus I call out to you, oh Great One."_

The medic's optics widened and understanding followed by alarm crossed his faceplates. He reeled around, away from the chamber they had been motioned towards, and found himself faceplate to faceplate with Monochrome. The black and white youngling smiled brightly.

"It's okay, Dad. This is what we have to do," he assured.

Ratchet looked past him, optics falling on Clippershot and Opalescent. The mech was completely still and silent, and despite the deathgrip on his hand, Opalescent seemed to know her friend would not be getting back up. The Commander, just beyond them, looked up and met the medic's optics.

"Dad," Ratchet looked back Monochrome, "Go home, make it better. We'll be waiting."

Ratchet opened his mouth, stared at the creation he had never known, then looked back at the older, wiser Bluestreak. The Commander nodded once. Optics once again on Monochrome, he backed slowly into the chamber with the others. There was no door to close, but they were still essentially cut off.

Chromia looked at him in concern, "Ratchet? What's it from?"

_"My people, my friends, my family all surround me and they know not my intention, but you must, Master, you know."_

He turned around slowly to face them, "Novas Prime said the prayer right before…he destroyed the great city in order to stop the invading Quintesson forces."

Confused looks met this and he gave a short, humorless laugh.

"She's going to blow it up."

_"For the hope of many and the life of those I cannot see, I will give you what I have no right to take. Forgive me."_

Back outside the chamber, Monochrome stepped back to the consoles and started up the sequence. Whirrs and hums sounded as the machine came to life, and sparks flew in the chamber. Only a few more switches and he would be done.

Across the room Shiver held up one hand, preparing to countdown. Monochrome rushed to get the last preparations in place then went to pull the final switch. He turned around. The Commander, or rather, his young self, was staring back with horrified blue optics, and a voice called out assurance behind him.

"Don't worry, just don't try to become the leader, it sucks!" The Commander informed the young gunner.

Smiling dully, Monochrome flipped the switch.

In a flash of light and swirling color, they disappeared.

_"This my final plea, Great Primus, take them into you, hold not against them my sin, and forgive me for this murder."_

Shiver closed her optics as her fingers reached one.

_"To you now, my Master, to you I give. All forever, all together, all are one."_

She pulled the lever.

And all was consumed in white.


	10. Epilogue

_Lizard: Ya know, now that I've started actually finishing stories I've found that it's a surprisingly bittersweet occurence ;-; It's almost like saying goodbye to an old friend...well, not quite and that was really rather cheesy, but it is kinda a sad thing._

_Anyways, I hope you all have enjoyed the ride (I certainly have ;)) and I thank every one of you for reading! And a very special thank you to all of my reviewers, especially to **Faecat** and** DramaStar-Mel **for sticking with me through to the end ;) You guys are the best!_

_As a side note, if anyone is interested in a series of oneshots with the "future 'bots" in it just for fun, let me know! There's a poll on our profile about it, so come and be heard. Obviously, it wouldn't be a serious story, nor would it probably be that popular due to the dreaded OCs, but hey, if a few people are interested, I'll write it!_

_And now...On with the epilogue!_

* * *

Coming back was a shock, not just the actual action of time-travel, but also the sudden feeling of everything being "normal" again. They were thrown immediately back into the life they had left, with no recovery time, and only each other to confide in. But, they managed, and time wore on, slowly healing whatever wounds their experience may have opened.

"It's almost the day the attack is supposed to happen," Chromia observed, lounging in one of the chairs in Prowl's office.

Said tactician thrummed and smiled slightly, "Yes, but this time we'll be ready."

Ironhide, sitting next to his mate, snorted, "You can fraggin' bet we'll be ready, once I'm done whippin' this batch o' mechs inta shape."

Bluestreak winced, a member of that particular "batch," "Yeah, I think we'll definitely be ready with all this training and stuff because I know I've learned a lot, and even if they won't admit it the twins have gotten better at shooting, though I think they were pretty good to start with and the exercises are really hard, but that's good because-"

"Blustreak."

"Yeah Prowl?"

"We understand."

"Oh."

Ironhide chuckled a bit and they lapsed into silence as he and Prowl continued to read the reports that Ratchet had given them. Chromia was running boredly through some updates and information from Elita-One, and Bluestreak, sitting up against the wall, was absently cleaning his sniper rifle.

"A machine built to fire energy into the core of a planet with t

he sole intent of causing a massive explosion," Prowl mused, pausing in his reading.

Ironhide rumbled, "Pretty fraggin' incredible, considerin' what they had ta work with."

"True, but I suspect they may have kept many of the best materials specifically for this purpose," the tactician pointed out, "Not to mention with the ship obviously irreparably damaged, they could easily have taken parts from it as well."

The weapons specialist thrummed thoughtfully, "I suppose that makes sense."

Technically, the hefty data file wasn't a report so much as an explanation of what the others hadn't caught, namely anything scientific in nature. The five had unanimously decided that no one else was to know of this particular venture, and they stored it away deep in their memory files. They did, however, use their newly gained knowledge, and Prowl suddenly and "inexplicably" changed his tactics to more aggressive, Ironhide insisted on more intense training, Chromia demanded more weapons for the femmes, Ratchet started pushing Wheeljack to learn more than just basic first aid, and Bluestreak took his own lessons more seriously. This orn, however, four of the five had managed to sneak in some time apart from any listening audios.

"So…they knew all along?" Bluestreak asked a little sadly.

Prowl nodded, "I suspect that with that amount of power they were able to destroy or at least severely cripple the entire Decepticon fleet. It was a brilliant strategy, if only the loss wasn't so great."

Bluestreak vented. He was becoming less depressed now that they were back, but a noted drop in his exuberance had a few others concerned. His fellow "time-travelers" were also quieter, more thoughtful, and perhaps gruffer, but it wasn't quite so pronounced. Of course, in the hectic life of warriors there wasn't a whole lot of time for concern.

As the silence in the room stretched on yet again, Bluestreak had to break it for his own sanity.

"How different do you think it'll be now?" he asked rapidly.

Several surprised optics flashed up to his faceplates and he shuffled uncomfortably.

"I-I mean-"

"No, we know what you mean," Prowl interrupted calmly, "I believe we were all just trying to think how to respond."

"Hard to tell, kid," Ironhide rumbled, rubbing the back of his helm, "So far it's lookin' good, but we don't know when somethin' might go to Pit. I guess we'll jus' have ta wait an' see."

Chromia nodded, "And keep an optic out for trouble, now that we know it's out there."

Bluestreak nodded, faceplates drawn in concentration, "Maybe I shouldn't, but I kind of miss the others. You know, the ones from the future and I was just wondering….if we'll ever see them again?"

An awkward silence met that and several uncomfortable glances were exchanged before Prowl spoke up.

"We…don't know, Bluestreak. However the chances are…slim."

The crestfallen expression on the gunner's face made him wince internally, but it wasn't in his programming to be very good at comforting, so he remained silent.

"Well," Bluestreak murmured, "That sucks."

_'Where are you four?'_ a voice suddenly snapped through an internal comm. that transmitted to only those in the room.

Prowl immediately responded, _'My office, currently. May I ask why, Ratchet?'_

_'Good, stay there.'_

The tactician twisted his mouthplates in a faint show of annoyance but didn't comment further. Several breems later, the medic strode purposefully in and waited for the door to slide shut before speaking.

Optics glinting pleasantly the mech grinned broadly at them, "I have some news I'd like to share with all of you."

He paused and Ironhide growled in irritation, "Get on with it, Ratch."

Their CMO grinned all the wider, "You may recall that just before our little adventure Bluestreak was supposed to tell me something regarding a request from Blaster."

"_Yes?"_ the word was drawn out in an unspoken warning.

"Well, I found out he wanted to talk to me about the sparkling we found in the aftermath of the last attack," he stated matter-of-factly.

This brought several confused stares.

"What about him?" Chromia asked slowly.

An even wider grin, "You'll never guess the little one's designation."

"What is it?" Bluestreak asked, looking about ready to burst from anticipation.

Ratchet's grin broke into a full-blown smile.

"Echoclick."

* * *

_"Nobody can go back and start a new beginning,  
__but anyone can start today and make a new ending."  
-Maria Robinson_


End file.
